


Mirrored

by brainstorm1001



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 14:10:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 154,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5969902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainstorm1001/pseuds/brainstorm1001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was going to happen to him was something terrifying; all his instincts were rebelling against his decision but Harry resisted. Now it was his turn to make a sacrifice and ensure their survival. Compliant with the DH up to the events in Malfoy Manor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nail in the coffin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Only for mature readers! This SLASH fanfic was exclusively written for Harrymort fans. Not beta read, may contain some typos, grammatical errors, and spelling mistakes.

xxxxx

"STOP OR SHE DIES!"

Harry drew in a long, ragged breath and held it in until his lungs hurt.

He should not have agreed to their help and company. He would probably be long dead by now, but this would have never happened.

Slowly, he peered around the edge of the sofa, clutching the stolen wand in a sweaty hand. Bellatrix stood directly in his field of vision, supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and holding a short silver knife to her throat.

"Drop your wands," Bellatrix whispered icily. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"

"I said, drop them!" she screeched when neither of them moved. She pressed the blade deeper into Hermione's throat until a few beads of blood appeared there.

"All right!" Harry shouted and got up quickly, dropping Bellatrix's wand onto the floor at his feet. Ron, who stood close beside him, did the same with Wormtail's before they both raised their hands to shoulder height.

"Good!" she derided, her breast heaving wildly. "Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"

Harry knew it; his scar was bursting in flames. He could feel Voldemort flying through the sky from far away, over a dark and stormy sea. Soon he would be close enough to Apparate to them and Harry still saw no way out.

"Now," Bellatrix said softly, as Draco hurried back to her with the wands. "Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."

At the last word there was a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Bellatrix stood directly beneath it; she dropped Hermione and threw herself aside with a scream. The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions; Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face. As Ron ran to pull Hermione out of the wreckage, Harry took the chance and leapt over an armchair. He wrested the three wands from Draco's grip, pointed all of them at Greyback, and yelled, "Stupefy!"

The werewolf was lifted off his feet by the triple spell, flew up to the ceiling and then smashed to the ground.

Narcissa hurriedly dragged Draco out of the way of further harm, but Bellatrix sprang to her feet, her hair flying as she brandished the silver knife. Narcissa, however, directed her wand at the doorway.

"Dobby!" she screamed and even Bellatrix froze. "You! You dropped the chandelier?"

The tiny elf trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress.

"You must not hurt Harry Potter," he squeaked.

"Kill him, Cissy!" hissed Bellatrix, but there was another loud crack, and Narcissa's wand too flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room.

"You dirty little monkey!" shrieked Bellatrix. "How dare you take a witch's wand, how dare you defy your masters?"

"Dobby has no master!" squealed the elf. "Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!"

Harry gasped as his pain suddenly peaked.

The scar on his forehead twitched as if it was alive and his stomach churned horribly. Dimly, he knew that they ran out of the last seconds before Voldemort was with them.

"Ron, catch – and GO!" he yelled, throwing one of the wands towards him. He saw it spin in the air, he saw Ron's hand reaching for it, but then with a loud booming sound the door suddenly crashed open and Harry's mind was instantly filled with malevolent euphoria accompanied by the worst surge of agony tearing his scar apart. He sank to his knees, holding his molten forehead, praying that Ron and Hermione had made it, that they had gotten away…

Ron's terrified gasp reached him only a second later and crushed his hopes to ashes. It was too late and Belatrix's exhilarating cry only confirmed his darkest thoughts.

"Dobby!" he called out blindly, still clutching his pulsing scar, "Hurry! Take Ron and Hermione out of…!"

A green flare penetrated his closed eyelids and as he opened them in terror, he saw the house elf enveloped by the deadly light. Their eyes met for one last moment before the void filled those large glassy orbs and Dobby's small body began to sink to the floor.

"NOOOO!"

Harry caught him before he fell and pulled him closer with his shaking hands, embracing him gently.

"No … please, no… Dobby… _Dobby!_ "

Rage and sorrow rose inside him like a tidal wave and that small, sick, gleeful part of him connected to that monster standing in the doorway was only adding fuel to the fire in his soul. He wanted to grab Belatrix's knife and tear open his own chest before cutting out that rotten piece and stuffing it down Voldemort's throat.

But he could not mourn for Dobby now, no matter how much he hurt. He had to find a way how to get them all to safety first. He was still alive and so was Ron and Hermione and if he wanted them to stay like that he had to think of something really fast.

He glanced at them briefly, yearning some reassurance, and noticed instantly that Ron had been disarmed in the meantime. At this point, he could only try to get back to the wands, which he dropped during the worst surge of pain, but he had no idea how he was going to do that because he could feel Voldemort's flaming eyes on him. Any wrong move and he would be dead. Not that it really mattered since Voldemort planned to kill him anyway.

"My Lord! As the master of this house, I am proud to present you with Harry Potter!"

Harry raised his eyes and looked at Draco's father, who spoke to Voldemort, kneeling before him like some pitiful slave.

"You?-!" Bellatrix cried out as she sank before the tall, emaciated dark figure as well. "I don't remember you having any right to give him over! My Lord, it was I who summoned you and…"

"I caught Potter, my Lord!" Greyback stepped out of the shadows, limping and holding his broken ribs, but apparently conscious again thanks to his inhuman heritage. "Whatever they say, my Lord, it was I who caught him!"

Voldemort replied to none of them. Harry could only feel that intent gaze of his blood red eyes watching him from the shadow.

"Be quiet you gold-obsessed scum!" Bellatrix spat at the werewolf, drawing Harry's focus back to her. Greyback bared his teeth at her, but she was not abashed in the slightest as she continued in her hateful tirade. "You're not even worthy of our Lord's attention! Stop bothering him with your filthy half-bree…!"

"Enough!"

That quietly spoken word was colder than an arctic wind and froze the upset witch in the middle of the word. She scooted back to a humble position by Voldemort's feet, kissing his robe apologetically. Harry would have snorted in disgust were he not so desperate and clueless about finding a way out of this mess.

"I am…," Voldemort paused as he slowly emerged from the shadows, allowing Harry to see his pale, terrifying, snake-like face in sharp clarity. Cold fear squeezed his madly beating heart and for a moment Harry struggled to breathe. He failed in his task … he failed everyone…

"…very disappointed," the dark wizard finished softly, a hidden threat trailing in his voice. "Had I arrived just a moment later, I could've only watched Potter disappear again. Is that how you wanted to hand over the boy to me, Bellatrix?"

"No! No, my Lord!" she cried; her heavily lidded eyes were glistening, reflecting her growing desperation. "It was all the fault of that dirty little house-elf who had appeared here and helped Potter out!"

"Shall I understand it that all of you were nearly outsmarted by a single house-elf?" Voldemort whispered in a cruel, mocking voice.

"M-my Lord…!" Bellatrix stuttered on the brink of tears, her face darkening in shame.

"Silence! Not another word from you, Bellatrix. You're dismissed."

Voldemort cut her off harshly, no longer paying her attention as he moved closer to his soon to be victim. Harry looked around wildly; he could not miss the spiteful grimace the older Malfoy made at Bellatrix behind her back. He could not quite care about it either. He needed some idea – anything would be fine at this very moment. But his mind was completely blank and for once he felt utterly hopeless. There was no help coming: he could only see Narcissa holding Draco in her arms in a faraway corner and Ron embracing unconscious, bleeding Hermione the same way he held Dobby's fragile body. Harry glanced at his best friend, who returned his gaze dully, as if he was already saying goodbye to his life. 'Don't give up,' Harry mouthed words of comfort he did not feel. Still, it seemed to pull his best friend together a bit. Ron gave him a tiny nod and Harry quickly gathered his courage and looked up at Voldemort, who was slowly approaching him.

"Famous Harry Potter," the Dark Lord whispered cruelly, "…we meet again at last."

Slowly, he drew the yew wand between his long, white fingers.

"Ah, I wanted to do this with the Wand of Destiny, but, apparently, this one must suffice for one more time."

Harry, having a very clear idea of what was coming, laid Dobby carefully on the floor and promptly tried to snatch one of the wands behind him. They flew out of his reach just before he could touch them and fell on the floor with a noisy clatter a couple of feet away.

"Don't even think about it, Potter. This time I won't play fair. This time you'll simply die."

Hatred surged in Harry after hearing those words. Slowly, he got up and straightened his back.

"I will kill you, but first you must repay me some of that humiliation which I suffered because of your impossible luck."

He flicked his wand and Harry felt his spine curve the same way he experienced back at the graveyard, but then Voldemort suddenly changed his mind and released him, pointing his wand towards Ron and Hermione instead. Before Harry could scream in fright, he heard him say.

"Rennervate."

A moment later Hermione stirred in Ron's arms, looking owlishly around before she froze with a fearful gasp as everything sank into her mind.

"I want both your friends to see this," Voldemort explained and his voice shook with malicious pleasure.

"Now ... kneel before me willingly or watch them die."

With his heart pounding painfully against his breastbone, Harry turned his head to Ron and Hermione.

Ron's lips moved and Harry knew what he was saying – 'don't, he will kill us anyway.'

A shard of ice pierced that throbbing muscle in Harry's chest. He could not let that happen – and yet he could not stop it.

"It is not wise to keep me waiting, Potter."

Harry turned back to the Dark Lord and slowly, brokenly dropped to his knees.

"Ah … yes. This is so much better than the Imperius Curse. Good, very good. I wonder what else will you do to make them live a little longer?"

Harry said nothing, only gritted his teeth. He was sure Voldemort knew that the answer was almost anything. And that scared him. But he refused to show his fears and increase the Dark Lord's amusement.

"Such a fierce spirit … it's almost admirable," Voldemort sneered down at him as he circled him at a leisure pace.

Harry kept his head proudly up, even when Voldemort stopped in front of him again.

"Now, beg me to spare them," he ordered coldly. "Plead for mercy; grovel on the floor like everyone else and I may consider it."

Harry's whole body locked up in disgust. He stared ahead, refusing to utter a single word. His hands curled into tight fists and he clenched them harder and harder until it hurt.

"You won't?" Voldemort whispered. "You still haven't learned your lesson, have you? I believe I told you once that obedience is a virtue you ought to be taught before dying."

"My Lord!" an ecstatic shout came somewhere from behind the dark wizard. "Let me teach him, please! I'll torture that girl again and her screams will make him beg you like a child!"

"Bellatrix?" Voldemort said softly, tilting his head aside a little. "I believe you were dismissed."

"M-master, I … I … thought that maybe you would like to reconsider…?" she said haltingly as she came into Harry's peripheral view. Her voice was trembling and pleading.

Voldemort did not answer, but according to her devastated face, he must have given her one of his merciless looks. She deflated before Harry's eyes, finally coming to understand her punishment. She was not allowed to watch the moment of her master's triumph.

Just a few seconds later the burning feeling returned to Harry's forehead, telling him that he was being watched again. It was when the door closed behind Lestrange that Voldemort spoke again.

"I'm not at all surprised that you refuse to cooperate, Potter. Never mind, I intend to deal with this quickly," he said and tapped the wand against his fingers, before giving him a mirthless smile. "However, first you will watch me kill your friends. That shall, without question, break your fragile mind and provide me with sufficient entertainment. Now, tell me, who should go first - the boy or the girl?"

In that moment, Harry realized with certainty that bordered with madness that he had nothing to lose. He could just kneel there and watch his most important people die the same way Dobby did or he could be murdered first in an attempt to save them. From this point of view, there was nothing to consider.

Harry looked up at Voldemort and since he was already prepared to perish in the next moment, he did not care about the consequences of his next move.

"Ladies go first, my Queen," he snarled through his teeth, fierce hatred filling each of his words. And then he shot his tightly clenched fist into Voldemort's groin, which was coincidentally within reach and just at his eye level.

It was a precise hit. Harry could feel his knuckles meet the hard bone, causing all the fleshy parts in between considerable damage.

The shriek Voldemort gave in response was far outside the range of any normal human vocal cords. In that brief moment of immense satisfaction, Harry watched the tall body curl inward as if it wanted to implode. The long claws found and scratched Harry's face painfully as the howling man dropped to his knees, but Harry disregarded it in order to aim his other fist to the small cleft of Voldemort's chin. He hit it with the same precision and with a quiet snap of two rows of teeth colliding together the dark wizard fell over, the wand momentarily slipping from his fingers.

This was his opening.

This was the chance Harry stopped hoping for.

He leaped after it, but Voldemort was right behind him, tearing his jacket and shirt to shreds and scratching his back raw in delirious fear of losing his wand to his greatest enemy.

"LUCIUS!" the Dark Lord shrieked the first coherent word and Harry could see from the corner of his eye the blond man wake up from his shock and rush forward to help his master.

Giving everything to this one last chance he had, Harry, still lying sprawled on the floor under Voldemort's weight, stretched as far as he could and then a little farther and finally caught the handle of the yew wand between his index and middle finger. He pulled it into his hand, fighting down a strong urge to turn around and blast the Dark Lord's head away. It was not possible to kill him yet; Harry knew he needed to destroy his Horcruxes first.

That was why he threw the wand across the room before Riddle had any chance to wrestle it from him and Voldemort, since his existence depended on it fully, followed the wand's direction blindly, screaming orders at his followers to stop them no matter what.

The red light of a Stunning Spell sang in Harry's hair as he got to his feet and he glanced aside, seeing Lucius hit the floor in an undignified manner.

"HARRY!"

Harry turned to the caster of the spell and saw Ron throwing him one of the wands which he had summoned, while Hermione, weak and hurt as she was, managed to tug Griphook out from under the chandelier before taking Ron's hand fast.

Harry caught the wand expertly, then sprinted back to Dobby and also seized his small, inert hand.

"POTTER!" Voldemort bellowed and Harry saw him turn toward them, the wand in his hand again.

"Avada…"

Harry did not wait to hear the rest; he turned on the spot and disappeared into unknown, repeating the name of the destination in his thoughts, hoping that it would be enough to get them to safety…

Bill and Fleur's . . . Shell Cottage . . . Bill and Fleur's . . .

And then he fell onto wet grass and peaceful sounds of a distant sea filled his distraught mind.

Harry kept his eyes closed, unable to move for a while. Even breathing seemed too difficult to carry out at that point. He felt emotionally drained and completely exhausted.

Sometime later, he realized that they had indeed arrived to the beach close to the Shell Cottage since Dean and Luna rushed to him and started to talk to him urgently. He did not hear what they were saying; as he opened his eyes he only watched Dobby's tiny body lying stiffly beside him.

"Ron … Hermione?" he managed to ask later and Dean told him that they were all right and that he should follow them to the cottage as well.

"No… I want to bury him first. And I want to do it properly…," he heard himself speak quietly.

His scar prickled and burned as he started to work, digging deeper and deeper into the ground. One part of his mind felt Voldemort's rage and pain and saw him punishing cruelly those who were left behind in the Manor. Yet, as he let loose all his pent-up grief which he had to preserve inside in order to survive, it now shielded him from the impact of Voldemort's fury.

With a loss of his dear friend, his obsessive longing for the Hallows subsided as well. Did he really want to shield himself from the death when his friends were ready to pay such a price only to protect him?

He felt as though he had been slapped awake.

It was already an early morning when they all had gathered by Dobby's grave and said their tearful goodbyes. Afterward, Harry returned with them to the cottage and took a seat by the table in the kitchen. He was staring out at the beautiful, morning scenery through the window, remembering how he pleaded Dobby never to save his life again. If Dobby listened to him, his little friend would be still alive while he would be already somewhere beyond … somewhere with his parents.

"Arry … mon Dieu! I've only just noticed that you'rrre bleeding too! Come here, let me take carrre of it."

Harry turned to Fleur, feeling little stabs of pain as the torn skin on his back stretched with the movement.

"I'm fine," he said dully. "Surely others need your help more than I do, Fleur."

"Others arrre already resting and healing. Now eez your turn."

Having no words of protest left, Harry shrugged and turned his injured back to Fleur.

"O' my," he heard her disturbed mutter a moment later. "It lookz rrreally nasty. W'o did that to you?"

"You don't want to know that," Harry whispered, watching the sun rays reflect on the glass of water before him.

"I must clean it firzt," she said and he nodded mindlessly, listening to Bill, who talked about Ginny being safe from Hogwarts since the Death Eaters knew now that Ron was travelling with him.

Before he could have asked about how the Weasleys were protected, Fleur spoke to him again.

"There eez a piece of somet'ing in your wound, Arry. I muzt remove it. It may zting a little."

A moment later, Harry felt a brief pang of pain and then some unpleasant wetness as his blood began to pour anew from the deep scrape along his spine.

"What eez it?" Fleur said, frowning in disgust. Harry turned around and looked at her bloodied fingertips. She was just about to throw whatever she was holding away, but he caught her hand gently and placed the little object onto his palm.

"It lookz almost like a … fingernail," she shuddered and wrinkled her nose.

"I'm sure it's exactly what it looks like," Harry said, thinking fast.

He was going to keep it for the time being. There was something about it he would like to discuss with Hermione, but he also needed to talk to Griphook and Ollivander.

And he already knew who he had to pay a visit first.


	2. Colder than ice

xxxxx

"Harry, you're my hero!"

For the past two weeks Ron kept grinning at Harry like that, constantly reminding him of what had exactly happened at Malfoy Manor. When they had arrived, everyone naturally wanted to know how they managed to escape and Ron was more than eager to share that information, changing subtly the events on every occasion. In the end, Bill and Fleur, who were the first to hear the story, knew basically the truth, but when Lupin had arrived to tell them the wonderful news that he had become a father, Ron was lively describing that after castrating You-Know-Who and beating him senseless in front of all his Death Eaters, Harry walked out through the opened door with his head held high and no one, not even Bellatrix Lestrange, tried to stop him. Harry only shook his head at Lupin who nodded with understanding; neither of them interrupted Ron's recital since his new eagerness to continue with their task was actually for everyone's benefit. Also, Harry was too astonished, delighted and overwhelmed that Lupin wanted him to be Teddy's godfather to care much about anything else at that time. But right now he looked up from the book of advanced potions which he borrowed from Hermione and sighed. Ron still may have found it amusing, but he did not, not really.

"Stop it," he said at last and before his friend could say any more, he added. "Let's focus on finalizing our plans, okay?"

"Sure, Harry, but I can't help it. Who else can say that they… err…?"

"Touched You-Know-Who's privates? Not many I believe. Do you want me to describe that experience to you?"

Ron's gloating expression quickly changed into a look of abject horror.

"No," he muttered and looked away in embarrassment.

"Then quit talking about it already. It's not that I enjoy being reminded of that all the time."

"But Harry, you were so brilliant! I can still hear the sound of his scream!"

Ron's whole face lit up again at the memory, but Harry only rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, it was very brave of me to make such a girly move! Yes, a girly move, Ron! I admit, it was satisfying to hear him howl in pain, but guys simply do not do this to each other. Period. I'm sure you would be screaming just the same if something like that happened to you, so would you kindly stop picking on me already?"

A gust of fresh air blew in the small room as Hermione briskly strode inside.

"I could hear you all the way down to the kitchen, boys," she said reprovingly and threw her thick mane over her shoulder before taking a seat opposite to Ron and Harry. "Anyway, if you want to know my opinion about what you were discussing, I think you were really, really brave, Harry. Anyone else would have simply given up at that point. But, other than that, I must also agree with what you said. It would have been much better if you could have avoided – _incapacitating_ You-Know-Who like that," she said and placed a large book which she carried under her armpit on a desktop.

Ron goggled at her comically for a few seconds.

"Wh- What are you saying, Hermione?! We would be dead if Harry didn't do that! He was absolutely - ingenious." He had to lower his voice since Hermione pressed her finger against her lips and hissed at him sharply.

"Of course that Harry saved us all and that he was ingenious," she whispered resolutely and began browsing the pages of the book she brought along. "Nevertheless, You-Know-Who only wanted to kill him until now."

"Only?-!" Ron sputtered out, but Hermione shushed him again.

"Yes. Imagine what will happen during their next unavoidable encounter," she said and cast a worried glance towards Harry.

"I prefer not to think about it too much," Harry said and rubbed his temples. "He will surely try to repay me the favour in the most painful way possible."

"He won't, if we have destroyed all of his Horcruxes by that time," Ron opposed him confidently.

"Right. So we better start working on it now that we suspect where another one is," Harry silenced him and looked back at Hermione.

"Did you find anything, Hermione?"

"Yes, I did," she nodded and pointed her finger at the bottom of the page she was reading. "It should be working, according to this source."

All of them turned their gazes to a little glass phial which Harry carefully pulled out of his trouser pocket. A long, curled black hair and a small piece of a dead-white fingernail lay innocently at its bottom.

"And you are absolutely sure, right? Because I don't even want to imagine the consequences if anything goes wrong."

Hermione's searing look had a power to wither Harry away. She folded her arms over her breast and raised her chin pointedly.

"Of course that I am sure! You can read it by yourself if you don't believe me!" she snapped and pushed the opened book closer to him.

"Don't misunderstand, I believe you entirely," Harry said quietly, still watching the phial pensively. "But I hope you understand my worries."

"Look," she said, sounding a lot more appeased, "The book clearly says that you can use a hair, or a nail, or a piece of skin, basically anything but the liquids. Especially not blood. That would change the potion's properties dramatically."

"In what way?" Harry asked carefully.

"Well, you could possibly start thinking like the other person … or share some of his or her personality aspects. This paragraph doesn't specify it any further," Hermione admitted hesitantly.

"Sounds scary. Good thing that I don't intend to add his blood into it," said Harry and raised the phial at the level of his eyes again.

"H-hold on! This is still just a theory, right?-!" Ron whispered angrily. "I thought that we agreed that Harry won't be using the Polyjuice Potion! It's too dangerous! No – it's point-blank insane! Harry, you can't possibly consider changing into…"

Hermione's sharp hiss caused that he barely uttered the last words.

"… You-Know-Who!"

"I've been thinking about it a lot," Harry replied as quietly and calmly as he could. "Do you think that I am particularly happy about it? Or that I'm actually looking forward to it? A mere thought of being in his skin traumatizes me, Ron! It makes my stomach turn with disgust, but -!"

Harry turned in the chair, looking directly into Ron's widely opened eyes.

"It is also our greatest chance to get out of Gringotts alive. You can't deny this! No one will ask questions. No one will control us. It's like having a free permit in our hands!"

"But he will know, Harry," Ron shook his head, still doubtful. "He will know that we are hunting his Horcruxes."

"I'm not sure about it," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Who would confront him? It's not like some of his Death Eaters would ask: 'My Lord, what were you doing in the bank the other day when you were supposed to be doing this or that?' Right?"

Harry, having Hermione's open support, knew that things were settled then. It was obvious that she was secretly hoping for some back up; she needed someone who would help her play Bellatrix Lestrange confidently. And who could be a better person for that task than Lord Voldemort? And Harry wanted to believe that he could play him well. He visited his mind a way too often and learned most of his behaviour patterns in detail. But, being in his skin for real could easily turn into something else altogether. Harry chased away that thought for it made his throat unnecessarily dry…

In the meantime, Ron ceased his open protests and began to mumble to himself instead.

"If you say so… Still, I don't know if I will be able to handle the company…," he whispered, biting his cracked lips repeatedly.

It was later that day when they shared the final plan with Griphook. Harry did not feel comfortable in his company at all. He could tell that Griphook somehow suspected him that he did not want to give him the sword when the mission was over and so the atmosphere around them was rather tense and reserved. Harry wished he could be more honest with him for deceiving the others was against his deepest beliefs but there was not much he could do about it in this situation.

Afterwards, they talked to Bill and Fleur and told them that they planned to leave early in the morning and that they didn't want them to see them off. They were very strict about it for Harry and Hermione had to transform before they left and the less Bill and Fleur knew about their plans the safer they were.

Harry slept miserably that night. He was awake till the wee hours in the morning, listening to how Ron stirred and rolled over in the bed. He was thinking about the way he had felt the night before they infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and remembered his determination bordering with excitement. Now he was experiencing jolts of anxiety and nagging doubts. And it was not only because of the fear that something was going to go wrong. Their plan was good; Griphook knew how to get them to the vault and no one would ever dare to submit Voldemort to any security procedure. Still, none of that helped to ease his trepidation, because he also knew that the result of this mission solely depended on his ability to act like Voldemort and spread that immense fear around himself.

When the early morning finally arrived, Ron slipped from his bed and got dressed in the semidarkness.

Harry put on his glasses and sat up in the bed as well; every nerve in his body seemed to tauten in fearful anticipation.

"I'll wait for you outside," Ron whispered and Harry nodded jerkily, taking the glass phial and a small bottle with Polyjuice Potion from the nightstand.

He got up quietly, gathered the long black robes which Hermione prepared for him yesterday evening and sneaked in a small cupboard next to the bedroom they shared with Dean. He placed the phial and the bottle onto a narrow shelf and leaned backwards against a linen cabinet, breathing deeply to stop his hands from shaking.

The darkness around him was almost comforting. No one would see … no one would know … which of course was not true since several people were bound to see and know everything…

It took him a good minute before he braced himself for what was to come and looked at his reflection in an old, faded mirror which was attached to the opposite wall.

"Okay," he spoke to himself. "Just do it. You can do this."

Harry uncorked the bottle and let the nail slide into it. The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it turned a sick sort of purple and blue. Also, it was steaming a little, but not in a way a hot cup of tea usually does. It rather reminded Harry of something freezing cold suddenly brought to warm environs.

Harry hesitantly raised the bottle to his mouth, checking his reflection again. He was so nervous that his stomach was clenching painfully, refusing to take anything in.

A pair of alarmed, brightly green eyes was gazing at him from the mirror.

He gritted his teeth. His friends would understand if he could not do this. He could always hide under the Invisibility cloak, playing it safe while exposing his friends to grave danger. That was their alternate plan after all.

The one which Harry refused right away.

The liquid touched his lips. It was too cold for his liking.

Harry shuddered.

What was going to happen to him was something terrifying; all his instincts were rebelling against his decision, but he resisted. Now it was his turn to make a sacrifice and ensure his friends' survival.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes tightly, turned the bottle bottom up and drank the whole content in three long gulps.

Immediately after that, his throat and bowels froze. Harry staggered around, clutching at his stomach, trying to keep his growing panic under control. Something was stealing away his body warmth, drawing it speedily into his inert insides, cooling him down to the marrow of his bones. He could swear that his blood turned into ice - how it was possible that it still continued to flow in his veins, Harry did not know. His eyes began to burn and he blinked rapidly and instinctively tried to rub them, but the moment he raised his hands to his face, he noticed that his fingers were prolonging fast, losing its flesh and colour like in some horror scenario.

The feeling of sickness peaked and Harry bent forward, gasping loudly. He felt something slide down his face and shortly afterward he heard a quiet jingle on the floor.

It was his glasses which now lay on the tiles by his long white feet.

Quite unfortunately, it was not the only thing which fell off his quickly changing body. His pyjama bottoms were pooling on the ground as well, suddenly too large to fit his skinny legs.

More embarrassed than alarmed, Harry abruptly straightened up and his head crashed into the ceiling. His lips escaped a muffled curse, which was uttered in a voice that almost caused him another panic attack.

He caught the ceiling for support and took in several long, wheezing breaths. Keeping his eyes closed, Harry desperately fought to regain his composure. When he finally steadied himself enough, he slowly touched the sore place on the back of his head. Even though he expected to feel no hair, Harry was not prepared that it would feel so unpleasant and strange.

And the most difficult part was still waiting for him. He needed to try and stay calm after seeing Voldemort's reflection gazing at him in the mirror when he opened his eyes. Nothing could effectively prepare him for that confrontation and yet there was no coming back by now. His heart fluttered madly in his chest when he finally cracked his eyes open a bit and met the pair of flaming red irises surrounding the largely dilated cat-like pupils. It was just like one of those dreadful nightmares; but this time it was too real to be just a dream.

For one short, irrational moment, Harry wished he could lock himself in the darkest room of the Shell Cottage and stay there until the effect of the Polyjuice Potion wore off completely.

The idea was brief but soothing. Yet, soon enough, he became too distracted by violent shivers which racked his body. He needed to get dressed immediately or else he would soon turn into a rigid, menacing icicle.

As he began to put on his dark garments, Harry tried not to look at his body too much. He strongly believed that certain aspects of Voldemort's privacy should remain undiscovered. However, deep inside Harry could not contain sparkles of curiosity. After all, he should have at least some minimal knowledge of this body since he would be using it for several next hours.

Hesitantly, he glanced down his torso.

Aside the evident gauntness, paleness and lack of any hair, Voldemort's body appeared to be surprisingly human. It did not really look like something that was brewed in a cauldron. If Harry really wanted to find something essentially foreign about his current form, it would be probably that odd agelessness which reflected Voldemort's immortality. He could be twenty, eighty or one thousand years old – nothing about this body indicated to his real age. His skin was smooth and wrinkleless; it may have been too thin and delicate for Harry's liking, yet it retained its supple quality. More interestingly, Voldemort even had a navel, which Harry found particularly fascinating for some reason. It was somewhat reassuring that no Dark Arts could remove this scar marking the essential connection to the mother's womb... But it also made Voldemort a little more human than Harry would have liked him to be. So, in the end, the only part of this body which was not precisely human was his face – the flattened nose with tiny slits instead of nostrils and his eyes. The longer Harry observed them in the mirror the more he was convinced that Riddle changed his appearance for some purpose.

Not that he wanted to know why. Harry did not want to think what he would do, if he suddenly learned that his body started to fancy snakes, lizards or something even worse. It was deeply calming to know that he should not be staying inside his skin long enough to figure it out. He buttoned up his shirt and pulled the robes over his head. Then he bent down and took his glasses from the floor, hiding them in one of his deep pockets. Finally, he pointed Draco's wand at his sneakers and enlarged them enough so they would fit his elongated feet.

He was almost ready to go now, yet there was one more thing which was still occupying his mind. How was it possible that he could see everything so clearly? If he did not know that he was standing in the dark, he would not have even noticed. His new eyes had no problem distinguishing tiny cracks on the mirror's surface, a couple of Fleur's long hair on the floor, or a new spider web in the blackest corner of the cupboard. Harry hated to admit that he found this new ability rather impressive.

Moreover, it appeared as if his hearing was greatly improved as well. He could listen to Dean's mutters from his sleep or to Bill's quiet snores coming from the sitting room downstairs. Ron seemed to be explaining something to Griphook outside and Hermione just closed the entrance door.

Harry shook his head. Having all these enhanced senses to his disposal, he felt that he finally began to grasp some of the reasons behind Voldemort's extreme superiority complex.

After one last cautious glance in the mirror, Harry opened the door and descended the stairs quietly. He was just passing the girls' bedroom, when his body came to a sudden halt and his breath rattled in his throat.

Did he just hear quiet footsteps?

A second later the door by his left creaked open a little.

Harry stiffened even more in fearful anticipation. He knew that Hermione was already outside so it had to be either Luna or Fleur. Only seconds separated him from a terrified scream awakening everyone in the cottage.

Luna came out of the door and stopped as well, but to his surprise she only looked at him strangely with that loony, unfocused gaze.

"It's me … Harry," Harry whispered nervously and instantly regretted opening his mouth and allowing that horribly cold voice deny that statement. He gulped heavily in expectation of an approaching doom.

Luna did not respond right away; she merely scrutinized him with her odd, protuberant eyes before coming to a certain conclusion.

"I liked you better with a nose," she spoke out dreamily and then she left without another word, heading towards the bathroom.

Harry took a deep breath which seemed to restart his heart. Sometimes, he really loved Luna Lovegood and this was definitely one of those moments.

When he finally stepped out into the chilly morning, he was still thinking about how Luna managed to recognize him. It had to be because of his face, his expression. The lack of control over his emotions may have been helpful this time, but it could represent a big problem in the near future. Harry realized that he needed to improve fast, if he wanted to make a convincing Voldemort. He suppressed another shiver and set off across the lawn towards Dobby's grave where his friends and Griphook were already waiting for him. Hermione, who already looked like Bellatrix Lestrange, was making some necessary changes in Ron's appearance while Ron was giving her his advice.

"Right, but remember, I don't like the beard too long."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't about looking handsome."

"It's not that, it gets in the way! But I liked my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the way you did… H-Harry!" Ron yelped out suddenly and Harry could not miss a flicker of terror in his eyes.

"No need to look so scared, Ron," Harry said as casually as he could. Still, he made his friend wince.

"Stop fidgeting or you'll have your nose crooked, Ron!" Hermione commanded in Bellatrix's deep voice, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. Ron was to be given a completely fake identity, and they believed that the malevolent aura cast by Voldemort and Bellatrix should be enough to protect him as well as pardon the presence of a goblin who was supposed to be on the run.

"Here you go," she finally said, stepped aside and cast an insecure glance at Harry.

"What do you think, Harry?"

"Well, he's not my type," Harry said after a brief look-over. "But he'll do."

"What a relief," Ron dared to smile a little once he realized that Harry was teasing him.

"I wonder…," Hermione began hesitantly, "If I could ask you something, Harry."

She procrastinated a little, even though Harry nodded almost instantly.

"I just wanted to know … what it was like. I mean … how did he taste like?"

Since there was nothing really embarrassing about that question, Harry did not quite understand why his chilly blood suddenly rushed into his face.

"Any reason why you are asking _that_ , Hermione?" Ron muttered and dragged his feet nervously.

"I just – because _she_ tasted really disgusting, worse than Gurdyroots. I only wondered if…"

"Cold," Harry said simply. "Colder than ice. Not a very pleasant experience, trust me."

"By the way, Hermione," he added and pulled his cloak tighter to his body, "Don't look so frightened whenever you're talking to me. Remember, Bellatrix adores him, so try to imagine that I have ginger hair or whatever…"

"Harry!" she gasped out and this time it was she who turned pink in her face. Ron followed her example right away; the blazing red of his ears could be seen even from beneath his long wavy hair.

"I'm glad you see my point," Harry smirked before he realized how scary it had to look on Voldemort's face. Quickly, he wiped off that expression. "Shall we go?"

"Griphook?" he turned to the goblin, who was standing aside, and indicated him to join them.

The three friends glanced back at Shell Cottage, lying dark and silent under the fading stars, then turned and began to walk toward the point beyond the boundary wall, where the Fidelius Charm stopped working and they would be able to Disapparate.


	3. Gringotts  part I.

xxxxxx

When the compressing darkness was finally lifted off him, Harry felt Ron's hand jerk away from his grip instantly. Harry understood his friend's barely hidden revulsion - and that was also the reason why he decided not to comment on it; he could not hope to cure Ron's instinctual fear with just one little side remark.

Besides, Ron's reaction to his appearance was no longer that important to Harry anyway. Now that they safely arrived to their destination, his attention was fast drawn to the busy morning Charing Cross Road. Luckily, no one seemed to notice their arrival so far. Muggles were passing them in haste, too occupied by their everyday routines to pay attention to a little inn where a group of four diverse, strangely clothed people secretly disappeared.

The Leaky Cauldron was dark as always but Harry's eyes promptly adapted to the lack of daylight. He could see right away that the place was almost empty. Tom, the old, toothless bartender, who coincidentally shared the same first name with the darkest wizard of all times (whose skin Harry presently wore as a brand new clothes), was polishing glasses behind a counter. Apart from him, Harry took notice of a young couple having a quiet conversation in a distant corner, two reticent wizards drinking Firewhisky straight from the bottle and an old witch sitting at the counter and smoking a long pipe.

Seeing no Death Eaters around, Harry relaxed a little, pulled the hood off his face and rubbed his slightly stiffened nape. That movement was caught by the two warlocks who were drinking their liquor by the table. Both men speedily got up and weaved their way through the inn, trying to disappear as fast as possible without actually running and pushing the furniture away.

Tom froze in the act of wiping out the glass. It slipped out of his trembling fingers and broke against the edge of the counter a moment later. The splinters spilled over its surface, rattling and clinking, and when the last piece of glass stopped twirling on the floor, the bar fell deadly still.

Those few people who remained in their seats stopped breathing. Harry felt their terrified gazes on himself; he could see their aghast, deadened faces, he could smell the rush of adrenaline in their veins and hear their silent, breathless prayers.

Their panicky fear was affecting him far worse than he expected. During the previous restless night he imagined many different scenarios about how it would feel to become Voldemort but hardly any of them were half as bad as reality.

He failed to comprehend how Voldemort could stand this even for a minute - how anyone could find enjoyment in someone else's agonizing dread. Harry couldn't even pretend to tolerate this, regardless of the fact that their situation required desperate actions.

At that point, he was just a word from cancelling their plan.

"W-welcome, Your Highness," Tom suddenly spoke up in a cracked, subservient voice and hurried around the counter to bow before him so deeply that his face nearly touched his knees. "Your presence is a great honour for all of us! If there is anything I can do for Your Lordship, please ask away…"

Harry couldn't answer. His throat was blocked by a huge hot potato which somehow appeared in his stomach, crawled up into his gullet and got stuck there. Without looking away from the shaking man, he groped blindly after Hermione's armpit and when he found it, he pulled her after him, leading them all hastily through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard.

"What the hell was that?" Ron whispered disgustedly when they were safely outside. "A little longer and he would start kissing your shoes like one of _his_ bootlickers."

Meanwhile, Harry calmed enough to start breathing again.

"He was just trying to stay alive, Ron," he said quietly and caught Hermione's wrist just as Bellatrix's wand tapped the wall before them.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," he said as the bricks began to rearrange themselves, opening an archway to the Diagon Alley. "We should seriously reconsider this. I've never felt this bad before. Ever."

Bellatrix's dark, heavy lidded eyes met his and when she spoke Harry could hear Hermione in that deep, vibrant voice.

"I fully understand how you feel, Harry. But you have to decide it now."

Harry glanced at Ron, pressing his thin lips together. He didn't actually expect to hear anything else – Hermione was supportive of him as usual, but not a born leader.

Yes, it was up to him to decide it. And as much as Harry hated the thought of continuing this, he also had no logical arguments to quit. It was just his discomfort he was facing so far, not some mortal danger. Besides, he knew from the start that this would not be easy, so it was only his fault that he had not prepared himself better than that.

Slowly, he nodded, drew the hood over his face again and looked ahead at the cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"All right, let's continue. We need to have this done after all."

They entered the Diagon Alley, which had nothing in common with the lovely street Harry remembered from long ago. Gone were the shoppers, the stores which pulsed with life, the laughter of kids and the hooting of owls – even the sun did not seem to shine here the same way it did on the Charing Cross. It was a very quiet place now; more shops were boarded up, covered with posters of Harry's face glaring at them from beneath the sign UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE.

As they moved farther down the street, Harry noticed a number of dirty, ragged people who sat huddled in doorways. He drew his hood deeper in his face in a desperate attempt to remain unrecognized. Yet, the beggars still melted away before them, searching for the shadows where they could hide and Harry soon realized that the reason for that was actually Hermione who wore no cloak. Bellatrix's presence apparently scared away even the bravest of the men.

"My children!" a high-pitched, dissonant voice suddenly called at them and as Harry whirled around, he noticed a man with a bloodied bandage over his eye stumbling across their path. "Where are my children? What has he done with them? You know, you know!" he cried, pointing his finger at Hermione.

"I – I…," she stammered, taking an unsteady step back.

The man lunged forward, aiming at her throat, but then he noticed Harry's face partly hidden beneath his hood. His knees gave out and he sank onto the dirty cobblestone, emitting choked cries as he tried to get away.

"Y-You! _You!_ Murderer! What have you done to them?-! My children! My children!"

As Harry watched the man crawl away, he experienced a strong feeling of turning into something that everyone speedily and with disgust remove from their sole the moment they tread into it. That sickening tension in his guts slowly peaked again, threatening him with disposal of his (fortunately almost non-existent) stomach content. However, it was also the moment when Harry understood why Voldemort did not make any public appearances. Contrary to his previous belief, the Dark Lord apparently could not stand this either. He rather surrounded himself with his most loyal servants who wanted nothing more than to see him happy…

Harry let the man escape, even though he knew that Voldemort would not do that. Once again he was unable to move or react properly. He could only fight down a silly promise on his lips; a promise to find those kids and help them if he could.

"This is - this is really bad. You were right, Harry. We shouldn't…," Ron uttered quietly, reading Harry's every thought. But he was interrupted by a sudden shout from behind.

"Madam Lestrange!"

Once again Harry turned after the voice and felt how Griphook grasped and tugged at his robes somewhere above his knee.

"It's Travers," the goblin hissed at him, but Harry could not instantly remember who Travers was.

By that time, a tall, thin wizard with bushy grey hair and a long, sharp nose quickly approached them, watching Hermione and Harry in turns.

"Y-yes?" Hermione stuttered slightly, before she composed herself and raised her chin. "What do you want?"

"I was just wondering what are you…?" Travers began suspiciously, but he paused then and his uncertain expression changed into a mask of admiration which however failed to hide his fright.

"M-my Lord?" he whispered fearfully and quickly dropped to his knees, sending apprehensive glances up to Harry's face. "I beg your pardon, master! I didn't recognize you right away. I – I am terribly sorry."

He hurried over to Harry and kissed the hem of his long robes. It took a great deal of Harry's resolve to withstand it without flinching.

"I am truly sorry, my Lord," Travers still muttered pathetically, "Please forgive my entirely unintentional misbehaviour – I had no idea – I did not expect to meet you here…"

So, he was a Death Eater, Harry at least knew that much. Now he could also remember his voice from the day they were nearly captured in Xenophilius's house.

He had to answer him; he had to think fast of something Voldemort would say right now.

"That's enough, Travers," he whispered coolly and silently congratulated himself for the right amount of menace he put into his words.

"Get up," he added when the man remained sprawled by his feet.

Travers obeyed quickly, but he stayed crouched and he didn't dare to look up at Harry's face as he briskly cleaned his dirtied robes.

"Thank you, master," he whispered obligingly. "You are merciful. Would you like to hear my newest report on the Weasleys right now or am I disturbing you with my presence and you wish me to leave?"

The moment he mentioned the name, Ron couldn't hold back a quiet gasp. Even Harry felt as if an icy blade was thrust in between his ribs. The world swayed around him a bit.

Travers glanced up at Ron, his eyes narrowing in brief suspicion; he didn't say anything though.

Harry fought to keep his face blank even though he felt like slowly being torn apart; he could not question Travers now – they would waste too much of the precious time and endangered the whole mission. But he could not just pass it by either, especially when the people he considered his family could be in a grave danger.

"I want a brief report," he decided in a stern voice. "But you will accompany me on the way to Gringotts; I don't have much time for you."

"Oh, what a remarkable coincidence, my Lord! I planned to visit Gringotts too! It will be my great pleasure to join you!"

Harry gritted his teeth. This was the very last thing they needed – a Death Eater who would watch their every step - and the worst part of it was that Harry could not freely talk to Hermione or Ron anymore. But he needed that information on Ron's family and he could tell from his friends' expressions that they approved his decision.

"Speak then," Harry said in Voldemort's cold, imperative tone and Travers was fast to obey.

"We have finally discovered their hideout, my Lord. We were tracing the owls from Percy Weasley who still works for the Ministry. It was just a question of time before he wrote a letter to his mother. That's how we found out that the Weasleys currently reside in a house of another filthy blood-traitorous witch - Muriel Prewett. Unfortunately, the house is still under protection of a Fidelius Charm. We believe that Arthur Weasley is their Secret-Keeper and therefore we plan to attack him first…"

"No!" Harry snapped before Ron could turn around and curse Travers where he stood. Though Ron quickly composed himself and hid his wand, Travers looked up at Harry in surprise.

"My Lord?" he asked, obviously confused that he wasn't praised.

Harry bit into his lip hard and his delicate skin failed to withstand the pressure of his sharp teeth. A second later he could taste bitter blood on his tongue. He wiped it off quickly. Now he had to think of a good reason why he yapped at Travers when the man was merely describing him something what sounded like Voldemort's plan.

"I'm not really interested in the Weasleys right now," he said as calmly as he could. "Keep watching them, but that's all. Do not attack anyone without my direct order."

Harry hoped that this should give them enough time to warn Ron's family about the danger and allow them to move safely to another hideout.

"Whatever you wish, my Lord," Travers responded quickly and cast a glance at Hermione before speaking again. "May I ask, master - I am merely curious, my Lord – does that mean that your plans about the boy have changed?"

It was hard to resist the temptation to inquire for more, to get some more information about what Voldemort was up to, but Harry contained himself. It would be too risky – and Harry needed Travers to be fully convinced that he was talking to Voldemort.

"I feel no need to inform you about that, Travers," he said quietly as they began to ascend the marble steps leading up to the great bronze doors.

"Of course, my Lord," the Death Eater quickly bowed his head and then he looked at Hermione again, only this time more surreptitiously. Harry suspected him thinking that Bellatrix had already been informed about the changes since she did not make any comment so far. According to his cold glare, Travers was clearly envious of her which Harry appreciated since that meant that the man had no time to pay attention to his growing anxiety.

They stopped in front of the entrance door.

As Griphook had already warned them, the goblins who usually guarded the entrance were replaced by two wizards with Probity Probes. Now they would see if the new guards would dare to examine the Dark Lord and his companions.

Harry's previous confidence wavered when he saw the men raise the golden rods as they approached them.

Making an instantaneous decision, Harry drew back his hood and flashed his gleaming red eyes at the poor guard who stepped nearer to him. The man's reaction was just as Harry expected, if not better. The man stumbled in shock and then knelt before him, muttering a quiet greeting. Relieved, Harry glanced over to the other one, who was already bowing to him deeply.

They opened the door for him a moment later and Harry entered the marble hall of the bank, followed by his friends, Griphook and Travers.

Inside the bank many goblins were already sitting on high stools behind the long counter and serving the first customers of the day. As they were passing them by, the murmur of a quiet conversation was gradually decreasing until it died away completely. Once again Harry felt the weight of everyone's attention rest upon him and suddenly became very much aware of the fact that the robes which Hermione prepared for him yesterday were a couple of inches longer than necessary. They were coiling unpleasantly around his ankles as he walked and he could tell that it was just a question of time before they sent him to the ground in a greatly undignified manner. Harry tried not to show how much that possibility distressed him.

Therefore, it was a great relief when he safely made it to the desk on the opposite side from the entrance door. Once there, he turned halfway back, giving room to Hermione, who stepped forward, looking a bit timid.

The goblin, who watched them nervously from his stool, managed to stutter out.

"How can I help you today, m-madam Lestrange?"

Hermione quickly composed herself and raised her chin in a passable imitation of Bellatrix's arrogant posture.

"I wish to enter my vault," she said as haughtily as she could.

The goblin recoiled a little. Harry could see how he pressed his lips together and how he licked them a couple of times. The atmosphere changed a little; the pure fear was now supplemented by something akin doubts. Harry could feel the intent stares of the other goblins watching them from nearby.

Then the one sitting across from Hermione spoke.

"Of course. Can I have your identification, ma'am?"

Hermione fidgeted. This wasn't going according to their plan.

"Identification?" she finally asked, taken aback. "I-I have never been asked for identification before!"

Harry looked at Ron, who nervously shifted on his feet. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Travers was watching them along with many others.

Someone tugged lightly at his robes and Harry glanced down at Griphook, who stood beside him. He saw his lips move, telling him two simple words.

_'Act now!'_

"Your wand will do, madam," the goblin behind the counter said in the meantime. He held out a slightly trembling hand, and in that dreadful moment of realization Harry knew that the goblins of Gringotts were informed that Bellatrix's wand had been stolen.

He took a long, resolute step towards the goblin and pushed Hermione aside rather rudely.

"Identification?" Harry snapped at him coldly. "Does Lord Voldemort look like someone who likes to be kept waiting?"

The goblin turned several shades paler.

"M-my Lord, I-I do apologize for this necessary delay, but the new rules..."

" _Whose_ rules?" Harry hissed in a voice that could fry even a devil to ashes.

The goblin began to tremble visibly; he was apparently having problems to breathe.

"I-I … really … didn't mean to offend Your Lordship..."

"You haven't offended me yet, goblin, but you're coming very close to it," Harry interrupted him again, feeling more and more confident in his new role. "Because I am still waiting here instead of being on the way to the vault!"

"I-I apologize immensely. If – if you would follow me, p-please, my Lord."

The goblin slid shakily from his stool and clapped his hands fast. Within a moment a younger goblin appeared by his side.

"I need the Clankers. Quickly!"

The other goblin dashed away only to appear a moment later with a jingling leather bag over his shoulder.

"Give it to me," said the older goblin and took the offered bag before turning back to Harry. "I will be honoured to take you to Madam Lestrange's vault, my Lord."

"Wait – Bogrod!"

Another goblin leaned from his stool and spoke to him quietly but urgently.

"We have special instructions concerning that vault. You should at least ask..."

"Why don't you do it yourself!" Bogrod snapped so quietly that his voice was almost lost in the jingles coming from the bag. When the other goblin didn't reply, Bogrod turned back to Harry and bent his spine again. "This way, please, my Lord."

Harry looked back at Ron and Hermione, who appeared rather impressed by his performance. Meanwhile, everyone in the hall was slowly returning to their business; even Travers stopped watching them and stepped closer to the counter, giving over a golden key to one of the goblins.

As Bogrod walked them into one of the many doors which led off the hall, Harry kept glancing over his shoulder in case anything went wrong. But he only noticed that some of the goblins were watching Griphook disapprovingly; no one dared to protest in any way. For a moment Harry could not believe that they could be so lucky.

When he reached the door, Harry had to stoop in order to pass beneath the stony frame. However, distracted as he was, he stopped paying heed to his long robes. He stepped on the fabric, lost balance and then he only felt something hit his temple so hard that his vision blurred and darkened completely. His body was sliding to the cold floor and over the loud ringing noise in his ears he could hear distant screams.

"...no! No! Stand aside! Harry! _Harry!_ "

Someone turned him on his back and when Harry opened his eyes, he saw his disguised best friend leaning over him, pressing his fingers to his extremely sore temple. But it wasn't the blood on Ron's fingertips that left him speechless.

When Ron noticed Harry's gaze of blank horror, he raised his head towards Hermione who was kneeling across from him, watching him in the same dismayed way.

"What?" he muttered, but then he covered his mouth and his eyes grew comically wide as he slowly came to realize his ultimate mistake.

Harry's eyes quickly refocused on Travers who hurriedly approached them and now he was standing a couple of feet aside, watching them with an expression of a troll who is trying to learn to read.

"W-what did you say? What did you just call him?" he whispered as if he expected that Ron would repeat it.

Hermione, aware of the crisis, got up quickly and turned to him.

"Obviously, he said hurry, hurry! He's from Transylvania, which is why he's got such a terrible accent! Honestly, what did you think he said, Travers?-!" she snapped at the dumbfounded man.

Then she knelt back beside Harry and laid her hand on his shoulder.

"My Lord," she whispered softly, "Let me assist you..."

Harry slowly sat up and pressed his palm against his bleeding wound.

"I don't need your help," he said, but it didn't sound as harsh as he intended.

It did not matter anymore. It was clear that everything went downhill from that point. He could see them - the goblins and the customers - all of them were trying to take a peek at him while he was sitting on the marble floor, holding his head like a two-year-old who was learning how to walk. He could hear their incredulous whispers, renewed doubts and growing suspicion.

Harry got up as quickly as he could and walked through the door after Bogrod, who was watching him distrustfully. When Hermione, Ron and Griphook got inside the narrow corridor as well, the door slammed closed behind them. But Bogrod didn't lead them any further.

"I have changed my mind," he spoke slowly. "I require Madam Lestrange's full authorization. Since she never showed me her wand, I need to..."

As he spoke the goblin reached out, trying to touch something on the wall.

"Don't let him do that!" Griphook sputtered out and Harry acted instantly.

"Imperio!"

A strange warm sensation ran down Harry's arm, connecting his mind with his wand. The goblin's eyes became blank and the corners of his lips raised to form a stupid little smile. He dropped his hand and turned, resuming his waggling walk towards the cart at the end of the corridor.

Ron looked from the goblin's retreating back to Harry and whispered.

"We're in trouble, right? I'm so sorry – I just wasn't thinking! They're suspecting us, aren't they?"

"It's not your fault, Ron," Harry shook his head. "I should have been more cautious, but I - I simply don't know how he's doing it – how can he even walk while wearing – this?" Harry said and tugged at his robes irritably.

"So what do we do?" asked Ron. "Shall we get out now, while we can?"

"If we can," said Hermione, looking back toward the door into the main hall, beyond which no-one knew what was happening.

"Well - we've got this far, I say we go on," Harry said. Dangerous or not, if they stopped now, Harry knew that Voldemort would get an insuperable advantage.

"Good!" Griphook said and tapped his foot urgently. "Then come quickly."

When they scrambled into the cart, Griphook took a seat beside Bogrod by the helm and Harry, Ron and Hermione seized what was left of the little space in the back. With a small jerk the cart moved off, gathering speed - yet Harry could still hear shouting behind them coming from the main hall. If Travers decided to alarm the guards, any chance of their escape was doomed.

And that would mean the only thing – they would be trapped again.


	4. Gringotts, part II.

xxxxxx

They were speeding down the dark tunnels, making sharp turns in a maze of passages, going still lower and lower. Their fully loaded cart was tilting dramatically in every winding and each of those sways was accompanied with menacing creaking. Harry, who found it upsetting since he (unlike his friends) had visited Gringotts before, leaned forward to discuss it with Griphook, yet before he could utter a word, the cart suddenly took a sharp turn left and rushed straight toward a roaring waterfall which appeared out of nowhere right in front of them.

"No!" Griphook screamed and pulled on the brakes, but to no avail. The cart was no longer under his control. Just a second later they flew into the stream and Harry felt a copious amount of water fill his mouth, eyes and ears. He could not breathe and did not see anything; he only felt that their cart violently flipped over, sending them all airborne.

Before they could be crushed against the wall, Hermione screamed some incantation and Harry felt his momentum change instantly. Instead of a powerful impact, his body only lightly glided down to the bottom of the passage.

"C-Cushioning Charm," Hermione stuttered out as Ron helped her stand up. But to Harry's great dismay, she no longer looked like Bellatrix Lestrange. She was once again herself, only soaking wet and stumbling in her overly large robes. Even Ron's beard was gone and his wavy hair was once again short and flaming red.

"That was the Thief's Downfall!" Griphook croaked out and clambered to his feet as well.

"It washes away all enchantments and magical concealment," he added and turned his eyes away from the flood, which was more than just water. "They have set off defences against us which means..."

His gaze fell at Harry and he froze - all remaining words died on his lips. His yellowish, deep-set eyes blinked rapidly as he took several unsteady steps back.

And Harry stared back at him, confused. Terror twisted goblin's face into a grimace, but Harry did not see any reason for it.

"What's wrong, Griphook?" Hermione asked, stealing the question from Harry's tongue.

The goblin wasn't able to find proper words at first. He merely pointed his shaking finger at Harry and his mouth moved helplessly.

"Must be him..." he finally wheezed out.

"It must be _him_!" he repeated, his small eyes bulging a little. "He's going to kill us!"

Driven by instincts, Harry looked around fast, but when he saw no threat in his vicinity, he glanced down at his own hands, which were still unnaturally long and pale. Only now he realized that for some inexplicable reason he remained in Voldemort's form. None of that, however, explained Griphook's inadequate reaction.

"Quit that nonsense!" Ron laughed it off nervously. "It's our Harry, of course! We're just lucky that he didn't change back yet."

"You foolish, narrow-minded wizard!"Griphook sputtered out, taking a few more steps away, his eyes roaming between Harry and Ron. "The Thief's Downfall removes every magical concealment. Every one! This person cannot be Harry Potter!"

And without waiting for anyone or anything else, Griphook spun on his heels and galloped away much faster than Harry would have expected. Soon enough, only the dull sounds of his boots could be heard echoing down the long, dark passage.

"Griphook! Come back!" Harry called after him, raising his wand in an attempt to stop him, but the goblin was gone already.

"Damn!" Harry hissed, berating himself for hesitation. It would be a mistake to chase after him now, since the goblin knew these underground tunnels far better than all three of them together. Besides, they didn't have much time left; Harry could easily hear the distant voices of their pursuers approaching them from above.

"W-who are you? You - you are not Madam Lestrange!"

The new voice caught Harry's attention and he looked back at Bogrod who in the meantime shook off the effects of the Imperius Curse and now was watching Hermione distrustfully. "You've tried to deceive me! You - you are impostors! Alarm! ALARM!"

Harry cast the curse again, this time even without thinking.

"Imperio!" he said and watched the goblin submit to his will once again.

Then he pressed his cold fingers to his sore temple and tried to quench his pulsing headache. He needed to stay focused and deal with this crisis the best he could.

"We need to keep going," he said quietly. "It's obvious that they are after us, so we must..."

Harry turned to his friends - and stiffened.

They were standing very still, watching him with fear and distrust over the tips of their wands, barely breathing.

"Where's Harry Potter?" Ron managed to ask tersely, though his voice noticeably trembled. "What have you done to him?-!"

"Ron!" Harry yelped out in disbelief. He took a step closer, but his friends retreated.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, then hid his wand quickly and raised his empty hands. He was marginally aware that the voices were becoming much louder by every moment. If they did not hurry, they would be soon surrounded – and killed.

"For Merlin's sake, I am Harry Potter!" Harry implored, feeling how the gravity of this situation was crushing him. "Just when do you think Voldem-," Harry quickly caught himself before he could make another deadly mistake, "...he could possibly switch places with me, Ron?"

"P-Prove it!" Ron stuttered, still pointing the wand at him.

Harry groaned as if he was tortured. It must have been a scary sight, since Ron turned another shade paler.

"And how do you want me to do that?-!" Harry howled, but Voldemort's cold, toneless voice concealed his desperation.

"Your Patronus," Hermione suddenly spoke up and stepped forward, regardless of Ron's attempt to stop her. "Let us see your stag … Harry."

It was actually a great idea and Harry didn't hesitate a second. He imagined his friends believing to him again, he imagined absolute trust in their faces before he raised the wand above his head and called.

"Expecto Patronum!"

His silver stag erupted brightly in front of them and illuminated the dark corridor.

Harry watched it gallop away for a moment and then he looked back at Ron, who appeared to be on a brink of relief-induced faintness.

"Harry..." he whispered apologetically. "I'm so sorry. I ... for a moment I really thought that you're You-Know-Who! But it's only because – I've never seen a goblin scared to death before. I must say it affected my judgement a bit."

"Yes, just a tiny bit," Harry said bitingly as his stag dissolved into a shining mist.

"But why didn't you change back, Harry?" Hermione asked as they joined his side.

"How can I possibly answer that, when even you don't know the reason, Hermione? But look, I'll be happy to worry about it once we're safely outside, okay?"

"You're right. We must hurry and get to the vault first," she nodded.

"Well - I'm sorry I have to say that, but how are we going to do that without Griphook?" Ron asked nervously.

"We still have Bogrod. I'll try to order him to take us to the Lestrange's vault. He must know where it is," Harry said, pointing his wand at the goblin, who was still waiting idly beside them.

The whispered curse was once again followed by a sense of heady control that filled Harry's mind and flowed from his brain to the wand. Bogrod's expression turned momentarily blank, before he smiled obligingly, took the bag with Clankers from the ground and happily trotted away into the darkness with Harry, Ron and Hermione close behind him.

The corridor soon widened before them into a large dark cave where Harry finally saw the thing for which he had tried to prepare himself. And he was quite unsuccessful, if he wanted to be honest with himself.

It was a huge dragon, tethered by its rear legs to the rocky floor. Its scales were pale due to lack of daylight and its eyes were milky pink as if the creature was half-blind. It was attentive, though, since the moment they entered it opened its massive chops and spat a jet of fire at them.

Only Harry's fast Shield Charm protected them all from being burnt to cinders on the spot.

"Merlin's beard! I didn't see that coming! Good reflexes, Harry!" Ron gasped.

Harry suppressed the urge to explain to Ron that those were not his reflexes and rather took one of the small metal instruments which Bogrod was meekly offering him.

The loud ringing noise it produced had a surprising effect on the dragon, who tried to hide away in the most distant corner of the cave.

They sneaked around the creature quickly and finally made it to the vault's entrance. Bogrod then laid his hand on its metal surface and it disappeared, revealing the various treasures inside.

"Search, fast!" Harry said as they hurried inside the vault. He had described Hufflepuff's cup to Ron and Hermione, but if it was the other, unknown Horcrux that resided in this vault, he did not know what it looked like. He barely had time to glance around, however, before there was a muffled clunk from behind them. The door had reappeared, sealing them inside the vault, and they were plunged into darkness.

Harry lit up his wand. "It's all right," he said. "Remember what Griphook said. Bogrod should be able to get us out of here anytime we want. Now let's just..."

He didn't finish what he wanted to say. He couldn't – his pulsing headache suddenly peaked beyond any tolerable limit and the vault around him disappeared.

He was standing now in a dimly lit room in a semicircle of wizards, watching Travers's shaking back.

"What did you say to me?" he whispered coldly, breathlessly. "Say it again!"

"M-my Lord! I swear it's true! I just met Y-Your Highness and Bellatrix in the bank. I-I found it a little strange and therefore I decided to return to the manor immediately a-and make sure t-that you really left."

"I would never leave this place without my Lord's permission!" Bellatrix cried out as she crawled over to him. "And certainly not with some f-fraud, my Lord!"

"That's impossible!" Voldemort cried out, terrible fear possessing him when he thought of all the possibilities, when he considered the danger for his dearest treasure which was hidden inside the bank... "No one would dare to steal my identity! You must have been confounded!"

"But still," his voice sank into a low, dangerous hiss, "I must be sure! I must verify that the vault is safe! Follow me!"

No, no one could possibly discover his secret, he thought as he strode quickly down the long halls. But maybe the bank wasn't as safe as he considered it. Maybe he should hide his Horcrux on some better, safer place. Yes, he must do it, he couldn't risk losing another precious piece of his soul like he did when he foolishly entrusted his diary to Lucius Malfoy. No, he had to make all the necessary arrangements to protect the cup, but first he needed to have it safely back in his hands...

Harry's eyes snapped open and his body instinctively tried to curl in pain, but he couldn't move. He could only bite into his sore lower lip, breaking it open and tasting his blood again. He had no idea what had happened to him but he could feel at least a dozen of severe burns all over his face and hands.

"Harry! Harry, can you hear me?-!"

He managed to turn his head after Hermione's voice and nodded a little. She released the breath she was holding and quickly spoke.

"Harry, listen, everything here is scorching hot and it also replicates when you touch it! It was nearly impossible to remove it from you when you fell into it. You were also thrashing around, making it much worse – I - I had to use a Partial Body-Bind curse on you."

She removed the spell and Harry slowly sat up.

"It's all right," Harry said and shook his head. "I just couldn't stop it this time. Travers informed him about us and he's terrified. He's coming here for the cup! We may have only minutes."

His friends looked at each other and then back at him, aghast.

"I-I'm afraid that we don't even have minutes, Harry," Ron finally whispered and in that moment Harry realized that the loud clanking noise did not reside inside his skull, but it was actually coming from the other side of the vault. "However, we found the cup - it's over there," he added quietly and pointed his finger at one of the shelves close to the ceiling. "Unfortunately, it cannot be summoned by magic."

"I'll get it," Harry said resolutely, rose to his feet and quickly located the cursed object. "You wait by the door."

He made a few steps towards the shelf where it was deposited, but his long, wet robes, which now clung unpleasantly to his chilled body, caught on a couple of golden goblets standing dangerously close to the edge of a table. They tumbled down and instantly multiplied.

Harry cursed loudly. He was just fed up with that. He flicked his wand and tore off the hanging black fabric right above his knees. And then he started climbing up the shelves. Regardless how hard he tried, it was impossible not to touch anything. A countless replicas were bursting from beneath his fingers, burning his skin painfully, yet Harry coped with it since it was seemingly Voldemort's body which was getting hurt. The swelling treasure was, however, catching up with him, threatening to envelop him completely. But he was also getting closer and closer to the target.

Finally, finding a proper use of his unusual height, Harry leaned as far as he could, catching the elaborate handle of the cup in between his fingers. It was scorching hot as everything else and replicating just as much, but Harry held it tight. Unfortunately, the shelves didn't seem to be able to carry the weight of the treasure for much longer, and if some of them broke apart, Harry would very likely fall off and lose the Horcrux. He couldn't risk that.

"RON!" He screamed in his high-pitched voice and his friend who was standing waist-deep in the gold looked up.

"CATCH!" And with that he threw the Horcrux in Ron's direction. As the previous Keeper for the Gryffindor's Quiddich team, Ron didn't disappoint him. He caught the cup and didn't drop it. He quickly hid it under his jacket as it burned his fingers, then turned and screamed something at Hermione.

Harry didn't understand his words over the loud clatter of the falling replicas. The shelf he stood on still fortunately remained in one piece, so he tried to climb further up to the ceiling. Yet, the massive treasure finally caught up with him and now it was compressing his scrawny body with its immense weight and all Harry could think of in that moment was that he was not going to die by Voldemort's hand and neither by cold as he feared just few moments ago.

And then the wall of gold began to move like a sand and Harry was sliding out of the vault with it.

Once outside, he threw off the burning coins that left nasty marks on his skin and got up to his feet while trying to avoid the flashes of light coming towards them from nearly every direction.

"Stupefy!" he bellowed, casting the curse at the nearest attacker, and Ron and Hermione joined him: Jets of raw magic flew into the crowd of goblins, and although some toppled over, others unstoppably advanced. To make it worse, there was a reinforcement coming; Harry saw more wizard guards hurrying closer from the upper levels.

Most of them hesitated when they recognized him and Harry used that to his advantage, sending a couple of them to the ground.

"They are impostors!" one of the goblins screamed – and his voice sounded suspiciously like Griphook's. "The true Dark Lord is coming! Stop them! Stop them no matter what!"

The tethered dragon was greatly distressed by the flashing lights - it let out a roar and spat another gush of flame over the goblins. The wizards fled, doubled-up, retreating back the way they had come and momentarily cleared the way. Then a sudden inspiration, or perhaps a madness, came to Harry. Pointing his wand at the thick cuffs chaining the beast to the floor, he yelled: "Relashio!"

The cuffs fell apart with loud bangs.

"This way!" Harry screamed, still shooting spell after spell at the advancing goblins while sprinting toward the half-blind dragon.

"Harry – what are you doing?" Hermione cried somewhere behind him.

"Come on – climb up – quickly!"

"If they escape we're all dead!" Griphook screamed again and that seemed to motivate the hiding wizards for some action.

Before Harry could have climbed on the dragon's back after his friends, the whole area was once again under fire of violent curses. The dragon, stressed beyond any measure, opened its chops again and spat a massive burst of flames that cleared an escape route towards the surface. Climbing up quickly, he left Harry alone hiding behind a large pile of debris.

"HARRY!" Ron and Hermione screamed and tried to slide back down to him, but the dragon was moving up fast and they nearly fell off of its back.

Harry was left with no choice. He ran out of his hideout, stunned several wizards on the way and started his chase after the fleeing dragon.

He jumped from a rock to a crevice, and from the crevice to another protrusion, trying not to think much about the fact that he was actually surmounting distances which were far beyond human limits. His body felt strangely light - a little lighter and he could swear that he would be floating - while his eyes stayed intent on the dragon's massive tail, which was still swinging a couple of feet from his reach.

"Harry!" Ron yelled again as he carefully began to climb down the dragon's tail, regardless of the risks. He was holding on to the steely scales, but his feet were sliding on their slippery surface.

And they were approaching the surface fast– Harry knew that they couldn't be far from it now.

Then the dragon stopped for a second and Harry used that one last opportunity – he jumped and caught the large scales on the very tip of the dragon's tail.

The creature roared and with one mighty push it forced its way outside – to freedom.

The rubble was falling everywhere – Harry heard Hermione scream – and then Ron was screeching something indecipherable. Harry saw them briefly over the dust in his eyes: Hermione was hanging in the air while Ron was holding her hand in his slippery grasp, calling her name desperately.

And then the dragon swayed its tail violently and Harry hit the wall.

Something cracked loudly in his back and a sharp pain let Harry know that something was broken.

The air was knocked out of his lungs and he could not suck it back. His fingers grew numb and the wand slipped from between his teeth, where he held it during his pursuit. His mind clouded a dense mist and only a very small part of him was still aware that he was sliding down, falling and falling...

Something alive moved inside him – it pulsed like a second heart and trembled like a small child.

It made him open his eyes and whisper.

"Aresto Momentum."

He was falling fast and the air was roaring in his ears, but then it stopped and he fell to the ground. It didn't hurt much, so the spell probably worked even without his wand. Harry scrambled to his feet, uncomprehending what sort of magic was making him do that. He could not ponder about it though: if he remained lying there, he would be crushed within seconds by falling rocks. There was nowhere to hide – Harry threw himself to the wall, searching for some escape route from the boulders which were shattering all around him.

And there it was – a small opening, just a couple of inches wide and Harry crawled into it without thinking and then he was sliding through it like a snake – his body was long, scaly and black...

Harry lost it.

He forcefully suppressed whatever it was that controlled his mind – and his loud hiss turned into a scream. He instantly changed back into Voldemort's form and realized that one of his ankles remained caught in the aperture. He jerked his leg hard to release it and he eventually succeeded at a price of losing his shoe.

It was too dark around him even for his enhanced eyes and the rumble of falling stones was also slowly damping out. Yet, he could hear new voices; they were many of them and they were all quite close to him, but Harry could not focus on that.

He was hyperventilating, even though his chest hurt with every breath he took.

He simply could not understand what just happened.

Did he really fly after the dragon only to fall back down and then sneaked through the tiny hole in a form of a snake to escape a certain death? And all of that without a wand?

"I'm not an Animagus!" Harry gasped out. "I don't know how to change into an animal! This is – this is impossible!"

A violent explosion chased away all Harry's fleeting thoughts. A gust of fresh air and some light entered the cavern and to Harry's horror, he realized that he was back in the dragon's lair: the entrance to the Lestange's vault was mere twenty feet across from him. But, as he made a quick logical deduction, he couldn't have possibly fallen somewhere else so … he had to hide. Quickly.

As he squeezed himself into one of the cracks, he spared a brief thought on Ron and Hermione. Hopefully, they made it out without getting hurt and they would destroy the Horcrux as soon as possible. Even his capture was worth it.

Then someone entered the cavern and Harry looked out carefully to see who it was.

The next instant he wanted to melt away.

No way.

No _fucking_ way.

Not yet, please.

But it was him, it was the Dark Lord, followed by a terrified crowd of goblins and wizards.

Voldemort lit up his wand: its piercing light created sharp shadows on his inhuman face.

Harry pressed himself to the wall, not even daring to breathe as the Dark Lord sniffed the air. He didn't see him perhaps thanks to Harry's black robes which made him disappear in the shadows. He could not smell him either as one cannot smell his own scent. So as long as he did not hear him … Harry had a small chance to live a little longer.

"M-my Lord, maybe we should chase the dragon first...," one of the Death Eaters - he sounded like Mulciber to Harry - said in a humble, hoarse voice.

"I gave Bellatrix and others exact instructions, Mulciber. They must catch them, but not kill them yet, especially if Potter's with them. And now be quiet – I'm sure I've heard someone here..."

His voice was cold and dangerous, but Harry could detect fierce uneasiness in each of his words.

"T-that is possible, my L-Lord," said one of the goblins. "There were many people caught down here when the ceiling had fallen..."

Voldemort didn't pay him attention. He surveyed the area quickly, while Harry still clung to the wall in that small crevice, feeling how his fingers quickly grew numb due to cold.

Finally, the Dark Lord spoke.

"Open the vault!"

A sturdy, dark haired man in whom Harry recognized Rudolphus Lestrange rushed forward, briefly knelt by Voldemort's side and then he and three goblins stepped closer to the vault's door which was once again sealed.

Harry could feel Voldemort's building fear, which threatened to take over him again. Harry refused to give in to that this time. He bit into his fist, resisting the waves of terror which were washing over him when the vault was opened and everyone could see the utter mess inside.

The replicas were gone though, and a few more goblins hurried inside, doing a quick inventory.

"Is something missing?" Voldemort whispered breathlessly. "Tell me – is something missing?-!"

Harry knew what the answer would be and he dreaded the consequences – not for Voldemort, of course, but for everyone else – including himself.

Because he couldn't hold on to that wall for much longer...

The tense minutes passed quickly and then the goblins returned from the vault with Rodolphus, who apparently did not want to be the messenger of the bad news, since he quickly returned to his place far behind Voldemort.

"So?" the tall, emaciated figure hissed icily. "What did they take?" he asked in a voice no one would dare to disobey. "Tell me!"

Harry gritted his teeth not to yelp out when Riddle nearly lost his struggle with a panic attack once he saw the goblins' hesitant, fearful faces.

"Only a ... a s-small golden c-cup m-my Lord...," one of the goblins stuttered out.

The scream of rage and denial shook the whole huge cavern. Harry's teeth tore into his flesh as an immense, overwhelming pain nearly ripped his head apart. Voldemort was crazed, frenzied and Harry didn't know how to face those emotions – they were washing him away, destroying his determination to stay silent, but he still held to it by the remnants of his steely will.

He could hear how Voldemort screamed the worst curses, he could hear the bodies falling to the ground heavily as the Elder Wand slashed through the air, yet he couldn't move an inch to stop it – he couldn't do anything. If he tried, if he moved just a little bit, he would break apart and lose his sanity as well...

People were racing back to the carts, desperate to escape, to save their lives, while the slower ones were left to be slain one after another until nothing – nothing could be heard.

But Harry was living the turmoil of Voldemort's thoughts. He was experiencing the horror, disbelief and rage that his deepest secrets were discovered and that his life, his most precious existence was threatened. He was in his body now, pacing the place filled with dead bodies, thinking of each of his safety anchors to immortality. And as he did so, calm very slowly began to return to him.

The boy couldn't possibly discover anything about the ring – he had hidden his connection to the Gaunts, the killings had never been traced to him. The ring had to be safe. And the idea of Potter overcoming protections he placed around his locket was ridiculous.

As for the school, it was probably the safest place of all – only he alone knew where he hid the Horcrux, no one else could possibly find it...

And concerning Nagini, he has to keep her close now; he can no longer send her to any missions – he must ensure her safety...

The thoughts continued to flow like a river, yet it was physical discomfort which returned Harry back to his body. He could no longer feel his fingertips, which were hopefully still pressed into the little cracks in the wall. The worse thing was that he had no strength left and he couldn't breathe properly. It was only a matter of a very short moment before he would fall out of his hiding place right before the furious Dark Lord.

Go away, go away, go away...

Harry repeated the words over and over in his head like a mantra, but Voldemort still hesitated, still plotted something, until finally, _finally_ he turned away and strode out of the cavern towards the spare, empty carts. A second later, Harry heard one of them rattle away.

Harry slid down from the slippery crevice since he could not hold himself there for another second. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to take a deep breath. He could not do that; some of his ribs had to be broken and he also felt physically sick from the sight of numerous dead bodies all around him. It was mind-numbing. But he also refused to succumb to lethargy; he had to keep moving, he had to get out of this place too.

Heavily, he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled around the corner, hoping that one of the carts was still there.

And it was, but Harry could only wish for the opposite.

"I knew that someone else was hiding...," an icy cold voice began and died away instantly.

For a second, Harry wished that he would too cease to exist in that simple, unobtrusive way. Voldemort, very likely, yearned for the very same thing.

But right now he was shocked to deaf silence.

If anything, Harry was not surprised. He raised his head and met the equally blazing stare. That was, however, where most of their similarities ended. Voldemort's skin was pure white and unblemished, his robes were dark and rich and his posture was mighty and commanding.

Harry, on the other hand, was dirty, covered in burns, beaten, his shoulders were hunched as it helped him breathe, and his clothes were currently nothing more than a piece of a rag.

Seeing 'himself' in that state was apparently something Voldemort could not easily process.

It took him a good minute to do as much as blink his eyes.

After that horrible pause, in which Harry was subdued to that disapproving stare, Voldemort finally asked icily.

"Who are you?"

It was a silly question, at least from Harry's point of view. It only illustrated Voldemort's deep conviction of his absolute inimitability.

"Your conscience?" Harry answered tiredly, a trace of resistance resounding in his voice.

Funnily, Voldemort did not respond right away and it seemed that he was actually considering it.

If Harry was in a better shape, he would probably play this game a little longer, but right now he could not find the energy to keep fighting. He was just too exhausted.

"Honestly," he added when Voldemort remained silent. "Who do you think I am, Riddle?"

The thin, colourless lips twitched a little and the gleaming eyes narrowed.

"Potter," the dark wizard whispered in a voice he would use to spit a curse. "It is you, isn't it? Who else would dare to think about … to even consider..."

Voldemort's voice faltered due to his building rage, but his wand was faultless. It flew up, pointing directly at Harry's chest. Harry glanced down at his empty hands from habit. There wasn't much he could do at this point. But from the good side, he was at least going to see his parents soon. And Sirius. And Dumbledore – yeah, he definitely wanted to talk to him about a couple of things.

"Accio cup!" the Dark Lord said instead of killing him directly and he looked greatly disappointed when nothing flew towards him a moment later.

"What have you done to it?-!" Voldemort hissed furiously. "Where is it?"

Harry knew that it would be very stupid of him to play dumb right now. For some reason, Voldemort did not kill him or torture him yet and he was certainly glad for that. Every second felt like a special bonus, but it could not last forever.

"Even if I knew," Harry replied grimly, "I wouldn't have told you."

The pale fingers tightened its hold on the wand, but no curse left it.

Harry looked straight into that furious face, and though it appeared to be beyond control at the first sight, he noticed a hidden struggle beneath the surface. It made Harry wonder what was holding Voldemort back – he was after all wandless and utterly helpless.

"I can figure it out even without you," Riddle finally spoke in a haughty tone. "It was taken by one of your little friends, wasn't it? They may have stolen it, but I assure you, Potter, that once Bellatrix deals with them, she'll bring it safely back to me. But for now...," he stepped forward, still pointing his wand at Harry. "What shall I do with you, Potter?"

There was something really off with him. Voldemort would not have asked Harry something like that – he would have simply killed him, if he decided against torturing him first. Yes, Voldemort appeared to be tremendously bothered by something; he seemed to be torn by indecision.

It was probably due to Harry's complete exhaustion that it took him so long to identify Voldemort's insurmountable problem. Harry glanced once again at his own long, spidery fingers, then he slowly touched his burned face and finally, regardless of the pain residing in his chest, he laughed out aloud.

"I've always thought that you wanted to kill me, Riddle," he said with a false grin, which had to look pretty menacing on Voldemort's face. "So, why am I still alive?"

Harry spread his arms wide. "You have an incredible chance to end it right now!"

Voldemort was growing more and more angry and frustrated before Harry's eyes. The Elder Wand shook slightly in his hand, his eyes were livid and his whole body was taut, but he still did not act.

Harry let his hands drop and his forced smile disappeared just as fast.

"Give it up," he said blandly. "You know you can't do it. There's nothing you fear more that the sight of your own corpse. You can't kill me and you'd better finally admit it to yourself."

The Dark Lord's hand dropped a little – but only a little.

"Perhaps I can't kill you," he confirmed Harry's surmise softly, but then his white lips curled into a ferocious grimace.

"Now," he added menacingly and before Harry knew, he was hit straight in the chest by a powerful Stunner.


	5. Nightmares and Wonders

xxxxx

In his stupefied slumber, Harry found himself standing at the edge of a vast, black, underground lake. His distraught, unfocused mind was wandering among his overwhelming fright, rage and also a small, golden box which he held in his numb, cold hand. Harry gazed at it, transfixed, his eyes not leaving it even as it slipped from his clutch and dropped onto one of the dark, greasy stones.

He didn't bother to retrieve it.

It was empty after all; only an imprint of a ring remained in its soft padding. The jewel containing a piece of his precious soul was gone. A new thrill of panic ran down his spine and he shivered violently. How could that possibly happen? How could he be exposed and attacked while having no suspicion of that?

Harry slowly raised his head and looked at a small island in the distance. His feverish thoughts turned to his locket and all his hopes centred upon its image; he refused to acknowledge any possibility that something could have happened to it as well...

His vision was zooming in and out like a badly tuned radio. He was only marginally aware that he was sailing over the lake and that there was a huge snake coiling at his feet. Then, after a brief dark period filled with nothing but incoherent flashes of light, he found himself leaning over the stone basin, gazing into its depths and his heart faltered... The potion inside lost its greenish hue and the locket, which should rest in it for eternity, was nowhere in the sight.

The moment of sheer, crushing disbelief was replaced by fury which exploded in Harry with a power of a bomb – it was brutal and devastating, and yet it died away just as quickly, morphing into boundless terror which dawned on him heavily. He sank to his knees and his forehead dropped onto the stone pillar in exasperation... He fought to resist that shameful weakness, he fought to understand – he had no idea how the boy managed to do it, how he could steal the locket, how he could even find it when no-one has ever known where it was hidden, no-one except of him...

But he will have the answers soon... He will get the information by any means necessary once he returned to the Manor. And as he got up, cold purpose was filling his mind...

Harry slipped back into the void for a while, until a deep, familiar voice addressed him.

"Master."

A man with sallow skin, a large, hooked nose, and greasy black hair bowed to him and joined him quietly.

"I shall meet you in your office later, Severus," Harry informed him coldly a moment later. "Leave me now."

Snape bowed again and set off up the stairs, his black cloak billowing behind him. Harry waited for the man's figure to disappear and then he looked over the outline of his beloved castle illuminated by the last rays of the evening sun. The sight didn't please him as usual – he was too upset to take any joy from it ...

The corridors were dark, empty and quiet – which suited his purpose perfectly. He made it to his secret room undisturbed and now he was walking through the alleyways of tremendous junk, searching for the last of his treasures... But something suddenly caught his attention and he quickly turned back to inspect it. It was the famous Vanishing Cabinet standing there forgotten under layers of dust. Harry slowly raised his skeletal hand and lightly touched its dingy exterior, watching how it smudged his white fingers.

He never questioned Draco about where he had hidden the cabinet from Dumbledore's all-seeing eyes. It had never occurred to him, that the practically useless boy could possibly find the same hiding place as he did those many years ago. A feeling of unease began to grow inside him again. If Draco had managed to find it, then why not Potter, since the boy was apparently a way more cunning than he had ever considered him.

He turned away from the cabinet, scanning the room fast, while walking further inside. And finally he reached it; a three-legged mahogany tea table standing next to an old, tarnished cupboard. Harry's eyes swept over its surface, searching for his precious tiara...

Only it wasn't there.

Harry practically doubled over.

A scream of agony was swelling in his throat as he looked around in wild panic - and then his eyes caught something glittering on top of the cupboard shelves...

"No," Harry muttered and shook his head; he recognized the object, he held it in his hands before – but it was him, Harry Potter, who had placed it on the ugly bust together with a dusty wig to mark the hiding place of Snape's old textbook. Realization shattered his dream and his mind began to separate from Voldemort's just as a tidal wave of relief rose inside his chest. Harry wanted to laugh with joy as much as to scream in denial.

The images began to mingle with his own thoughts – but Harry refused to be separated from him now, he needed to know where Voldemort was going to hide the tiara and what kind of protection he wanted to provide it...

Yet it was too late, he was slipping out of his mind and soon his own senses took over...

The return to reality was equally chilling and daunting.

Harry sat up on a hard plank that served as his bed, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain in his back. He began to pace the small, dark room in furious circles. The only door he found was locked and he kicked it angrily. He needed to get out of here: he needed to find his friends and tell them that he finally knew what the last Horcrux was and where it was hidden. Hogwarts! He suspected it all the time! Approaching the single tiny window, Harry tried to open it, he tried to break it apart but to no avail. Finally, after many fruitless attempts, it began to sink into his mind that there was hardly a chance to escape from this confinement without a wand or someone's help.

Frustrated, Harry sat back on the 'bed', trying to suppress his unmanageable shivers. There weren't many things which could spoil his mood even more than it already was, but the sight of his spidery fingers, which supported his bald head fell exactly into that category. He should have never touched that dreadful Polyjuice Potion! If only he had not drunk it! Now he was stuck in this nightmarish form and worse - Voldemort managed to seize the last Horcrux before he could reach it.

And as a bonus, he was about to die horribly - he quickly glanced down at his skinny legs and arms and sighed - the moment he reverted into his true form.

Harry got up and came over to the window again, looking down at a nicely maintained garden. It was dark outside, yet Harry had no problem recognizing the nicely cut hedges and majestic pure-white peacocks promenading over the long lawns.

His thin lips curled with distaste.

"Malfoy Manor," he whispered to himself. "What a surprise."

He briefly wondered why he was locked in here and not in the cellar like the last time. Presumably, they feared that he would somehow manage to miraculously escape again.

Suddenly, his thoughts were disturbed by a slight noise coming from the other side of the massive stone wall. Using his extra hearing, Harry soon distinguished two male voices. Intrigued, he crept closer to the wooden door and laid his ear on its surface, listening intently.

"Dumbledore trusted you with many of his secrets, didn't he, Severus?" a chilly voice, which could only belong to Lord Voldemort, asked dryly.

Harry gulped idly. If Voldemort was back already, then he must have taken the Horcrux along – or left it at Hogwarts...

"Quite a few, my Lord."

Hearing the deep vibrations of Snape's voice, Harry instantly felt a surge of fierce anger, which was only stifled by the fact that he was momentarily very angry at Dumbledore. The man he trusted the most purposefully let him grope in the dark and did not really bother to explain him anything, even though his life came as a price if he made a mistake...

And he made a couple of those already, only it was always other people who paid for it.

"Then tell me, did he ever mention to you or did you ever see in his office a golden locket – or a ring with a massive black stone?"

There was a momentary silence in which Harry held his breath.

"I'm not aware of that, Master," Snape replied slowly.

Harry, completely taken aback, took a hesitant step away from the door. And then another one.

He could not believe his ears. Snape just deliberately lied to Voldemort! There was no other explanation which would make any sense to him, because Harry knew that Snape was the one who treated Dumbledore's injured hand. And when he was healing him, Snape surely inquired what caused that wound and though Harry was sure that Dumbledore did not tell him anything about the Horcrux, he had no reason to lie about the ring. Also, Harry actually saw Dumbledore wearing that ring on one occasion and something like that would hardly go unnoticed by Snape...

But why would Snape try to deceive the Dark Lord when he was so loyal to him?

"It doesn't matter," Voldemort said discontentedly, his voice breaking into Harry's thoughts again. It was sour and also a lot clearer as he probably approached the door behind which Harry was imprisoned. "The lack of Veritaserum in your private stores, however, disappointed me greatly. I need to question Potter and I am sure that he will be too stubborn to be broken by the Cruciatus Curse. This could take hours or even days, which is unacceptable."

"I apologize again, my Lord," Snape hurried with an answer. "I informed the Carrows that they were not allowed to waste my private stocks of potions, especially not on the students. Nevertheless, it is obvious that questioning and punishing kids for some inconsequential misbehaviour is their priority. I'm trying to resupply my stores as fast as I can, but quite unfortunately the newest brew of Veritaserum which I prepared at the end of the last month still needs at least another week to reach sufficient potency. "

Voldemort hissed something under his breath that Harry did not quite catch and then he whispered more loudly.

"The Carrows need to be reminded that they answer directly to you when it comes to school policy."

"Thank you, my Lord."

Then the lock on the door clicked and Harry raised his head and straightened his back as much as he could without flinching. No matter how the thought of upcoming torture scared him, Harry refused to appear intimidated by Voldemort.

And then, finally, a tall, skinny, black-clad person entered Harry's dark cell and the intense red eyes turned to him instantly.

"Potter," he began coldly. "I believe that now I can finally..."

At that moment Voldemort's sensory percepts caught up with the flow of his thoughts and interrupted that process completely.

And Harry stared back, easily deciphering every single emotion which appeared on the Dark Lord's stiff, snake-like face.

Anger and confusion were among those which surpassed the others.

"You don't like what you see, Riddle?" Harry asked coolly, trying to break the silence which became so dense that anything denser would immediately start to crystallize out of thin air.

A dangerously low hissing sound reminding Harry of an agitated viper escaped the other man's clenched lips and progressively grew louder and louder. Harry, being a Parselmouth himself, was briefly taken aback by his inability to understand him. He couldn't really pinpoint why until a moment later when the angry hiss escaping through the bared, sharp teeth finally formed a comprehensible word.

"...sssssssssSSSSSSnape!"

"Yes, my Lord?"

Severus Snape instantly emerged behind the Dark Lord's back and lit his wand. Then he came to stand by Voldemort's side, staring at Harry with an expression of someone who just saw the ultimate mistake of nature.

"Explain!" Riddle snarled, pointing his wand at Harry.

"Master?" Snape's black eyes were unreadable. Whatever surprise he might have felt after seeing two Voldemorts in one room together never showed up.

"Potter drank the Polyjuice Potion more than nine hours ago. How is it possible that he hasn't changed back yet?"

Harry shifted his eyes from Voldemort to the endless black orbs, which reflected no light and emotion.

"That is … not possible," Snape finally admitted. "To my best knowledge, one dose of the most potent Polyjuice Potion ever prepared allowed a physical change which lasted for two hours and twenty-four minutes."

"Is that so?"

The iciness of Voldemort's tone dropped to subarctic temperatures.

"He could be some … highly skilled Metamorphmagus," Snape mused aloud and began to stroke his upper lip with his forefinger.

"Metamorphmagus, who would have _this_ in his pocket?" Voldemort sneered and pulled out Harry's glasses from his robes, handing them over for an examination.

Recognition flashed in the coal-black eyes, but soon it was replaced by that blank stare again.

"I admit this is highly suspicious, my Lord," Snape said expressionlessly.

"Besides, I know he is Potter. I can read his mind," Voldemort said curtly as he advanced towards Harry.

"I wish I could confirm this to you, my Lord. However, I must say, I experience certain difficulties when I attempt to read his thoughts … while in this form," Snape said carefully, but Harry did not buy it. He knew for sure that Snape recognized him and that only made him even more confused. He had no idea what kind of game Snape was playing, why and for whom, if not for his own amusement.

Voldemort meanwhile circled Harry slowly and stopped beside him – a way too close for any comfort – and now he watched him so intently that Harry could swear that his left cheek, which was currently exposed to that poignant glare, was melting away. Harry did not dare to return the stare; he rather gazed ahead at Snape, who seemed to be contemplating them both with his calculating eyes.

The moment prolonged on and on and after a while Harry started wondering if this was some sort of a staring contest which he would lose the moment he spoke. He decided to keep his mouth shut.

The heat, which scorched the left side of Harry's face, slowly moved down to his neck and then to his chest where it pooled for a moment.

"He is not a Metamorphmagus, Severus." Voldemort's soft, almost velvety voice finally broke the tension and allowed Harry to release the breath he was holding.

"He is too … perfect. A perfect copy of mine. No wizard would be able to mimic everything so precisely."

Snape did not respond to that.

"Which, however, does not really explain our little mystery here, does it? Never mind, I'll make Potter answer my questions one way or the other. That will be all for now, Severus."

Snape bowed his head and as he straightened up, his eyes met Harry's. However, before Harry could read anything within their depths, the man turned away swiftly and strode out of the room.

And Harry watched him leave with a hard knot forming in the pit of his stomach. For some very silly reason, he felt a lot safer when Snape was around.

The following seconds passed at an agonizingly slow pace. Harry tried to breathe regularly, but it was impossible. Thinking of all the possible torture scenarios awaiting him made his breathing come out in fast, uncontrollable stutters.

Still, terrified or not, he was freezing cold inside...

"So, Potter," Voldemort finally broke the silence with his quiet, clear whisper, "you've obviously upgraded your standard defensive strategy. No longer using more powerful wizards and witches as your shield, I see. Instead, you think that my looks will provide you with better protection, right? But let me tell you something, boy...," the dark wizard leaned closer, his lips mere inches from Harry's ear. "You - are - terribly mistaken..."

Harry broke his fixed gaze at the opened door to look into those gleaming red eyes.

Without blinking or moving a single facial muscle, he said.

"It's you who is mistaken, Riddle, if you think that I did it to protect myself."

Voldemort's thin lips twitched. He moved around Harry to face him directly and conjured a bright ball of light which flew high above their heads, illuminating the room. Then he pointed the Elder Wand at Harry's chin.

"You've never learned your place, Potter, have you? Out of all those countless offences against Lord Voldemort, which you've had the audacity to commit, this one is the worst … which of course does not mean that I've forgotten what you had done to me the last time we met..."

The Elder Wand slid over Harry's chest down to his belly and then to his groin.

Harry's tightly clenched lips escaped a quiet whimper.

He didn't want to be reminded of this part of his anatomy, especially since it was not entirely his own at the moment. But as the wand's pointy tip prodded his soft flesh painfully, Harry barely held back a yelp.

"How amusing," Voldemort smirked and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. "According to your expression, one would have thought that you find the possibility of losing your manhood considerably more distressing than losing your life."

Harry could not simply deny that some part of that statement was true. But he was also not the one to take abuse without fighting back.

"Is that what happened to your nose?" he snapped back, his anger helping him to cope with his fear. "Did you cut it off as well? Maybe self-mutilation is what really gets you off..."

The Elder Wand slashed through the air and Harry was lifted off his feet. It had to be the Cruciatus Curse but Harry didn't really feel any pain – at least until his back collided with the stone wall.

In that moment Harry's jaw dropped open in agony.

Something – his broken rib perhaps - had pierced his left lung. A coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and he spat it out reflexively. The pain was monstrous, but the fact that he couldn't breathe was much worse. No matter how hard he tried, he simply could not suck in even the tiniest gulp of air.

He was convulsing on the floor, scratching his throat and chest desperately with scrambling fingers.

He could feel his rapid heartbeat in his temples; his heart was still working hard, desperately trying to keep him alive. But his vision already began to narrow into a long, dark tunnel and his madly writhing body was becoming deadly still.

Comforting darkness enveloped his senses, but before he could succumb to it, he suddenly felt the air flowing through his mouth and nose again, extinguishing the cold fire in his insides.

Soon enough, he could even hear that slightly raspy sound of his breaths - elevated but regular once again.

Harry opened his eyes and found himself staring into a pale, snake-like, _livid_ face.

His slightly clouded mind failed to comprehend immediately why Voldemort looked so upset.

The dark wizard was kneeling by his side, visibly shaking, but he got up quickly, took a few staggering steps backward – and then screamed like someone who just lost last remains of sanity.

His screech was accompanied by a blast of magic which cracked the walls and shook the floor. Gradually, it changed into a long, anguished howl and the man slowly scratched his face all the way down to his neck, his long nails leaving angry red marks on his snow-white skin.

It was the moment when Harry came to fully understand what just happened.

Voldemort just saved his life.

Not that he wanted to – saving Harry Potter's life was the very last thing Voldemort had ever wanted to do – but obviously, he could not watch himself die in such a horrible way. Still, _the impossible_ just happened and Harry patiently waited for the end of the world to come – and he waited in vain for several long minutes. He was still there and so was Voldemort – and both of them were completely undone by the recent turn of the events.

"I … huh … I ... err...," Harry muttered as he sat up. His dry mouth still refused to co-operate with his greatly disturbed mind. But there was one word on his tongue which needed to be spit out before it could cripple him mentally for good.

"Th..."

He coughed experimentally, rubbed his chest and gave it another try.

"Thanks."

It was Voldemort's breaking point. Apparently, even a raging psychopath had one. The dark wizard let out another furious wail, then he backed out of Harry's cell and slammed the door shut.

And Harry spent a long moment staring at it in wonder.


	6. Improper encounters

xxxxx

Harry did not sleep at all that night. He was too upset and cold to even consider getting some rest. Moreover, he expected Voldemort to return any time soon and continue with his original plan of torturing him, which could hardly put his mind at ease.

When the Dark Lord made no appearance in another hour or so, Harry ceased his neurotic pace along the walls of his cell, which were exactly fourteen and a half feet long and nine feet wide, and came over to the narrow window, looking out at the murky early morning sky. It was still too dark to see his own reflection in the glass, but he knew whose face he would see anyway.

He lacked words to express his frustration. He wished he had at least the slightest idea of what could possibly go wrong with the Polyjuice Potion. Hermione surely prepared it correctly, but even if the unthinkable happened and she had made some mistake, Harry was convinced that the Thief's Downfall would have failed to transform her back too. Yet, it was just him who stayed like this, so the problem could not be in the potion. No, it was in him as usual. This had to be another one of his oddities like the mental link he shared with Voldemort or the connection between their old wands.

Still, no matter how traumatizing his unchanging appearance was, he had more important and urgent things to worry about. Because unless he was really badly hallucinating, he did briefly change into a snake back in Gringotts Bank. And something like that was far beyond any potion's power. And he could not blame it on some unintentional, stress-induced magic either (as his friends would probably do) since he did not even have a wand back there. It did not matter that his father was a skilled Animagus in his youth because he was not for sure. It took many long months or even years to obtain such skills and Harry did not even start learning the basics yet.

It just made absolutely no sense.

Except … if he had to hypothesize on one of his long-time suspicions … he knew that Voldemort could fly – and that was exactly what he was doing when he pursued that dragon; or it was as close to flying as anything else. And if Voldemort was an Animagus, Harry did not doubt that his animal form would be a snake...

All in all he acted like a possessed person, only he perfectly remembered everything. Moreover, the last time Voldemort actually possessed him, they both experienced pain beyond any measure. Harry doubted Voldemort would ever try to do that again...

So if he was not truly possessed, what was happening to him?

Harry skimmed his fingers over his forehead, feeling for his scar. The smooth, cool skin was marred by recent injuries, yet there was no sign of that old mark. Harry did not feel relieved; his invasions into the Dark Lord's mind did not lose its frequency or intensity – quite the opposite, actually.

Based on Dumbledore's assumptions, he considered the scar the sole reason for his access to Voldemort's thoughts. Now that he did not have it, he no longer suffered in Voldemort's presence and yet every other aspect of their connection remained unchanged.

Harry stumbled over to the 'bed' and sat down on it slowly.

He could speculate further, he could play with this Pandora's box, he could possibly open it and reveal all the dark and disturbing secrets he was forbidden to know.

But deep inside, he did not want to pursue it any further. After all, he should not be having these thoughts; he made a decision at Dobby's grave that he would stay true to his mission and avoid similar distractions...

But maybe Dumbledore wanted him to figure it out...

No, the Headmaster would have told him if there was even the slightest, purely hypothetical chance that he could be one of...

He would have told him...

He would.

_Probably._

Harry leaned back against the wall and took an unsteady breath.

He needed his friends more than ever. He missed their encouraging presence, he missed Hermione's eagerness to find the answers in her beloved books and he missed Ron, who would do anything to cheer him up. Everything would be so much more bearable than this.

At least they were safe. They had to be. That was the only thing which still kept Harry sane and going.

xxxxx

It was later that day when Snape finally came to see him.

Seeing those black, loathing eyes and that mouth twisted in an eternal sneer ever since the man put a foot in his cell, Harry wondered if the wizard was even capable of a different or - god forbid it - pleasant expression. He made a passable blank stare, but that could hardly be counted as an improvement in Harry's opinion.

"You seem surprisingly fit to me, Potter," his ex-teacher began in a low, drawling voice and his eyes raked over Harry's gaunt body which lay curled on the ragged, thin mattress.

"Judging from the Dark Lord's ill mood, I expected to find you at least unconscious."

Harry slowly got up, watching the Death Eater's sour expression. It was surprisingly rewarding to be taller than him for once.

"I don't think our encounter went the way he expected," he noted tersely.

"Typical. I warned the Dark Lord that you are the most obstructive, impudent and insufferable whelp I've ever had the misfortune to meet - aside from your father, of course. Apparently, he did not get my message."

Harry gritted his teeth. He was just about to tell him with the same straightforwardness what he thought about him, when Snape added derisively.

"Never mind. I can see you're hurt, Potter. Do you need my assistance?"

That put the train of Harry's thoughts on a spur track.

"What?" he asked, taken aback.

"I asked if you want my help, Potter. The Dark Lord ordered me to heal you. Although, there's not much I can do about your deafness."

"He ordered you to do… _what_?" Harry repeated again, ignoring the snub.

"Don't ask me why. I have no idea."

"And that's the only reason why you are here?"

Snape looked at him for a moment and then he said contemptuously.

"Surely even you could have figured out by now, Potter, that the Dark Lord wants to know why you are stuck in his body. Metaphorically speaking, of course," he added malevolently when Harry shot him an affronted glare.

"He ordered me to find out the reason."

Snape made a soft sound of an impatient distaste and then he sharply turned away from Harry and flicked his wand, conjuring a tall, narrow table by the window. His hand disappeared in his robes only to reappear a moment later holding a tiny black bag between his fingers. Another wand movement made the object grow into its original proportions.

And Harry observed him in silence, trying to put two and two together. Snape was still as dishonest as ever, perfect in his performance. Had Harry not caught him lying hours ago, he would not have noticed a thing. This time, however, Snape was deceiving the Dark Lord and Harry was sure that no other man in the world would have the guts or the skills to do such a thing.

And he needed to know why.

He bit his lips, feeling very uncertain all of a sudden. If he pointed out his findings now, it would be just a shot in the dark. On the other hand, if his surmises were correct…

He decided to make a risky move. Not that he had much to lose anyway.

"I know you're lying to him, Snape," he began, his chilling voice very clear, even though he spoke quietly. "And I think that you know, or at least suspect, why I did not change back yet. For some reason though, you told him otherwise."

The other wizard stopped unpacking items from the bag and slowly turned his head to Harry.

"Speculations, Potter?" he whispered, his black eyes glittering. "Is that all you've got left? Dumbledore used to think much higher of you."

Hearing the name of his old mentor, Harry went through a rigorous struggle to keep his rage under control.

"I'm not buying this, Snape," he said threateningly. "You won't distract me by talking about Dumbledore. This is about you! Because I know that you've got Veritaserum in your secret stores and I know that you didn't give it to Voldemort on purpose. And you lied about that ring too."

Snape's dark eyes narrowed, but he did not speak.

"Why are you trying to protect me, Snape? Why you of all the people?"

The other man's face turned inscrutable. One corner of his thin mouth twitched a little, but that was the only reaction Harry got.

"Still spewing your nonsense at me, Potter?" he whispered then, his face deadly inert. "A little longer and I'd start feeling nostalgic. Now, if that was all from you, I have a work to do - not that I'm looking forward to it."

But Harry was not going to quit like that.

"I bet you are doing this on Dumbledore's orders."

Snape's lips jerked more wildly this time.

"I can see your desperate effort to find a friend here, Potter. Let me tell you something - you are looking at the wrong person. Try Greyback next time!"

But Harry stubbornly ignored the open hostility swirling in those black eyes.

"Are you still working for the Order? Have you sworn Dumbledore an Unbreakable Vow? Is that why he trusted you so blindly?"

Snape slowly bared his yellowed teeth.

"You are absurd, Potter."

"Have you?-!"

"Potter..."

"Say whatever you want, Snape. I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't have simply put his trust in you if he didn't have a significant reason – other than senile ineptitude, of course…"

The Death Eater watched Harry for a long moment in complete silence and then he slowly turned away to the window.

"I told him that I wanted to die...," he said, his voice strangely muted.

"Why?" Harry whispered, eager to learn more.

"Because something died inside me when he killed your...," Snape paused abruptly, his breath fogging the glass.

"Who … who are you talking about?" Harry whispered, his voice shaking.

"But Dumbledore told me not to, and he was right. I can die any time I want. And maybe now is the right time."

Snape turned back to Harry, his face deadly pale.

"Do you know that I saw her every time I looked into your eyes? I saw her … and I was reminded of her foolish choice..."

His voice was deadened and broken, but that was nothing compared to how Harry felt. There was no doubt who was Snape talking about. What Harry found much more difficult was accepting it.

"You mean you saw ... my moth...?"

"But look at yourself now... I'm afraid, Potter, that your fate is sealed just as mine."

"You were in love with my … mother?" Harry, who barely listened to him, still tried to comprehend it.

"It doesn't matter, Potter. It changes nothing, do you understand?"

"But why - why are you telling me this?"

"Apparently, you still don't understand that Dumbledore didn't need me to swear him a thing. And before you ask, I killed him because he asked for that favour months ago. I killed him because he was dying anyway. The curse which I managed to trap within his arm was already leaking and spreading through his body. It was just a matter of days at that time..." Snape said impassively, watching Harry from the corner of his eyes. "This way, I could at least save Draco's life and spare his unsullied soul. Any questions, Potter?"

"Yes! Why didn't you - or anyone - tell me about this before?" Harry asked throatily, thinking of Dumbledore in that particular moment.

"And what makes you so special, Potter, that you must know all of my privacy?"

Harry looked away, ashamed.

"So that's why Dumbledore never told me the truth when I asked him why he trusted you. Fine, I get it - but what I don't get is your timing. Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because the time has come. Dumbledore wanted to keep some information from you until the Dark Lord started fearing for Nagini. Recently, he's very fearful for her. He always keeps her close and when he has to leave her, he often conjures a protective cage around her."

Of course he does, Harry thought to himself, nodding.

"So what is it that Dumbledore wanted me to know?" he asked tiredly, knowing that whatever it was, he surely would not like it.

Snape remained quiet for a moment and Harry could feel his contemplative gaze. Surprisingly, it was not accompanied by his typical arrogant sneer.

"Dumbledore told me," Snape began slowly, "that the night the Dark Lord tried to kill you, the Killing Curse rebounded upon him and his soul was blasted apart. A living fragment of it latched itself onto the only..."

"...me," Harry interrupted him coldly, but his heart jumped into his throat. "It latched itself onto me."

Snape's black eyes narrowed at him.

"How long do you know that, Potter?"

"I … I suspected it … for a while."

There was a brief silence during which Snape turned back to the windowpane.

"Anyway," he said dispassionately, rubbing his hands behind his back, "the Dark Lord cannot die as long as that piece lives inside you. I believe I don't have to explain what it means for you."

"Yeah, you don't," Harry snorted bitterly. But knowing something was one thing – and accepting it was something else altogether. The room started to sway around Harry and he sat back onto the plank heavily.

"Dumbledore never expected me to win...," he whispered, staring down at his long, dirty fingers. "I wasn't meant to survive."

Quiet footsteps approached him, but he did not bother to look up. The other man said nothing which suited Harry just fine. He did not need to hear any confirmation.

"There is one more thing, Potter. The Dark Lord must do it. It is essential. Now, take this."

When Harry raised his head, the other wizard handed him a small, ivory vial.

"He won't kill me while I'm like this," Harry shook his head. "Which is lucky for me since I haven't finished my task yet. What is it?"

"Skele-Gro," Snape said tersely, watching Harry uncork the vial and sniff the potion. "The Dark Lord informed me that he had to remove two of your broken ribs which accidentally pierced your lungs. And that he healed the worst damage."

"Yes," Harry said solemnly. "I remember…"

"I hope you realize, Potter, that the Dark Lord would not have done this for anyone– except himself."

Harry brought the vial to his lips, grimacing.

"Yes, I'm _such a lucky person_ \- until I change back."

"I don't think you will."

Harry swallowed the liquid in one gulp and shuddered – but for a different reason than the awful, burning taste.

"What do you mean?"

"His soul lives inside you, Potter. His soul considers this to be your true body. Since you haven't changed back yet, I'm sure that it's his magic which sustains your current appearance and artificially prolongs the effect of the potion. It cannot be removed by force, since it exists here," Snape scoffed, pointing his slightly crooked finger at Harry's chest. "So don't expect to be changing back anytime soon."

"Don't tell me that...," Harry said, staring disbelievingly at the other man.

This was beyond preposterous... No, Snape was just harrowing him to appease his queer sense of humour. It could not be true... Harry could handle a lot, but this...

"You're not serious, are you? I'm not him! I'll turn back eventually! There must be a way! Something … anything … please!"

Harry got up fast, gazing into the black eyes of his ex-teacher. Contrary to his expectation, there was no hidden malice in them.

Harry's knees gave out. He felt that his world was crumbling apart and he too was falling in some deep, black, endless hole, which was crushing him, choking him and slowly devitalizing him like the Dementor's kiss.

"I cannot help you, Potter. Soul magic is not my field of expertise," Snape stated coldly.

"WHY THE FUCK DUMBLEDORE DIDN'T TELL ME ABOUT THIS?-!" Harry screamed, furious. "I wouldn't have even considered drinking that bloody potion, then!"

"A little louder, Potter, if you please. He hasn't heard us yet," Snape sneered venomously.

"Fuck off!"

"Oh, something bad has happened to you, Potter? And you don't have a surrogate mother to cry on her shoulder? Have you made a mistake and now you're paying for it, alone and desolate? Welcome to my world, then. Be a man and face it."

Harry looked up, gazing at him in silence disturbed only by his irregular breath. There was something horrible and yet remarkable about the man before him, who lived in his personal hell for twenty long years and though he turned into a sour, vexatious bastard, he never really stopped fighting – and probably hoping for someone's forgiveness, even though there was no light at the end of the tunnel for him.

And neither for Harry. His death was scheduled and settled. What a great epilogue to Dumbledore's faultless plan aimed to destroy Voldemort... Funny, no one bothered to ask him how he felt about it.

But if he had to die, if there was really no other choice, he wanted to die as himself. Was that really too much to ask?

"I need to change back, Snape," he said shakily. "If there is anything you can think of..."

The black eyes flicked back to Harry, contemplating him. Harry tried to sit straight under that stare, fighting the pain of his speedily regrowing ribs forcing their way through his unhealed tissue.

"Hypothetically," Snape drawled then, stroking his lips, "there is always a chance. But I can only surmise that it would require a strong, mutual emotional involvement … perhaps even an attachment."

"What – what do you mean by that?" Harry asked, grimacing and gasping for breath.

"As I said, my knowledge of this kind of magic is limited. Yet, from what I know, I believe that a shared, powerful emotional bond could hypothetically bring the piece of his soul back where it belongs. If the Dark Lord were to feel remorse or some form of ... deep affection for you, Potter, then I assume it could possibly happen."

"Awesome," Harry sighed tiredly, knowing that Snape just suggested something virtually impossible. "And how am I supposed to make him feel that way?"

Snape shrugged his shoulders.

"You can't. Well, sharing some intimacies could theoretically work, but the result would be very uncertain and frankly, I would prefer death, if I were you."

" _Intimacies?_ " Harry spat out, making a face. "Is that a joke? Not a very good one, I tell you. Besides … I always thought he's asexual."

"I find myself very fortunate that I cannot answer that," Snape grimaced. "Now stand up, Potter. I need to heal your face and back." Harry got up obediently, rubbing his sore chest. Snape worked in silence for several minutes, until he finally said. "You should know that this was not meant to be my job, Potter. Nevertheless, since Travers and Belatrix both suffered the Dark Lord's wrath last night and they are mostly incapacitated today, I had to leave the school to take care of you."

Harry quickly met the coal-black eyes, allowing himself to experience the first tiniest trickle of relief. Was that Snape's way of telling him that the worst has not happened yet? Because Harry remembered that Travers had unwittingly betrayed the information about the Order and Bellatrix was assigned to hunt down his friends. If they were punished, it could only mean that Voldemort's plans had failed...

"Ron and Hermione…," he whispered after a moment, "and the rest of the Order ... they all escaped?"

"Still questioning me, Potter?" Snape's lips curved to his usual sneer, but Harry did not accept that adversary gesture. Now that the dark cloud of worries and grave thoughts started to dissolve above his head, his body relaxed and with disappearing tension he became more and more aware of his rather acute bodily needs and deprivations.

Not for long though...

"Severus."

That chilly voice pierced Harry's brain like an ice splinter and burst his tiny happy bubble, leaving him staring aimlessly at the wall with only one thought circling in his head.

How was it possible that he did not hear him coming?

But the next second he knew the answer. Silencing Charm. How simple.

And then the voice spoke again, colder than before.

"I expected you to question him...," it said and, after an awful pause, added, "...and not the other way around."

"It's useless to demand any answers from Potter, my Lord. His knowledge of this issue is minimal. He merely lives in false hopes," Snape replied quickly and Harry heard him shuffle as he bowed to Voldemort.

"It depends how false his hopes are, Severus, because I've noticed that he is not as useless as you consider him. Not like the young Malfoy who cannot even stomach to kill his enemy..."

Harry forced himself to turn his head towards Voldemort, and felt an instant chill at seeing him standing in the doorway, reserved and menacing as always. The dark wizard did not look at him. His blood red eyes were fixed at Snape's languid face instead.

"And yet you believe that Potter cannot give me the answer," he whispered softly.

"I'm certain of it, Master."

"Why is that so?" Voldemort raised his hairless eyebrow, genuinely interested in Snape's reply.

"Because he acts without thinking, my Lord. He rarely makes convenient plans or regards consequences of his actions and this is the result of it."

"But you've found the heart of the problem, Severus, haven't you?"

"I've only made one hypothesis so far, my Lord."

Voldemort's gesture was clear. He wanted to know more – and Harry deeply feared that Snape would be forced to tell him the truth.

"I dare to presume," Snape began slowly, "that the most relevant reason for the potion's long lasting effects is your magic, Master."

At that point Harry barely held back a gasp. He could not believe that Snape was actually going to give up that secret!

"My magic?" Voldemort whispered dangerously. "How could the boy possibly get an access to it?"

"I think it's via your fingernail, Master. Usually, a hair or a nail of a common magician contains virtually no magic. But you are the most powerful wizard of all, my Lord. I believe it's correct to assume, that your fingernail is a highly magical substance, which could have enhanced the potion's power significantly."

Voldemort instantly relaxed. Harry was surprised how blindly the Dark Lord accepted Snape's words only because he wanted to believe in them; he wanted to hear that he was unique and greatest of all and that a single piece of his nail could be so powerful that it could change the potion's properties so dramatically.

Harry had to admit that he was amazed by Snape's knowledge of Voldemort. He knew precisely what to say to him in order to stay in his favour. He did not lie about the essential part; he just did not tell the whole truth and fabricated the rest of the story, leading him to a wrong conclusion. Moreover, any possible uncertainty or hesitation which Voldemort probably noticed could be ascribed to the fact that Snape presented everything only as a theory...

Harry wished to learn how to mimic Snape's poker face; at moments like this it would be a priceless ability. Yet, all he could do right now was keep his mind clear of any treacherous thoughts and hope that Voldemort would believe in Snape's words...

The gleaming eyes of his archenemy finally turned to him and Harry, unprepared for it, instantly lost himself in a tidal wave of Voldemort's aching memories. He was overwhelmed by his panicky fear at seeing himself in this very room, writhing in pain on this dirty floor, coughing up blood and smearing it everywhere...

He's spent whole his life making himself invulnerable and invincible. So how could his own faultless body struggle to breathe, to live, only to fail again and again? Hadn't he vanquished that terrifying human weakness in himself?

Seeing that very last breath … the last convulsion, he knew he had to act. It was obligatory. He had to stop it before it was too late and that sight broke him…

And then there was a joy … he was alive … never to die … never…

But it was also Potter. It's always been Potter. He could see him in those red eyes which were so alike his...

Shame and rage boiled inside him at a mere thought of what he had done...

At that point Harry closed his eyes and turned his head away, interrupting that unwanted insight into Voldemort's mind. He did not want to know anything about the other man's feelings. It made him too human and Voldemort did not deserve even the smallest bit of Harry's compassion.

"You stink, Potter."

Harry looked up in surprise. Voldemort was standing right next to him, wearing a mildly disgusted expression.

Still watching his face, Harry slowly bent his head to his dirty robes and sniffed himself. The intense smell of grime, drying blood and sweat was truly gruesome. Turning back to Voldemort, Harry shrugged.

"It's _your_ stench," he said listlessly. "And it'll get a lot worse if I'm not allowed to use a bathroom … in a minute or two."

Hearing that, Snape failed to stifle a chortle. Well, someone else would probably consider it a decent cough, but Harry liked the idea of a laughter better.

Voldemort turned on his heel towards his servant who bowed to him deeply.

"I'll take care of it right away, my Lord," Snape noted in a perfectly calm, controlled voice.

"That won't be necessary, Severus. You may go," Voldemort cut him off coldly and Harry felt a sudden fierce grip right above his left elbow.

Before he could do as much as to try to wrench his arm free, Harry's bowels including his bulging bladder flipped over. The clutch on his arm disappeared the next instant and Harry blinked as he found himself somewhere else. Never before he had Apparated so fast. He remembered Voldemort doing this during the battle with Dumbledore, but Harry had no idea that it would feel so different.

He shook off that weird feeling and scrutinized the spacious room instead. Long, green, heavy curtains covered the windows, but Harry's faultless eyes could see all the details even in this semidarkness. He was sure that this place originally served as a sitting room. There was a high-backed armchair standing in front of a large fireplace and a small rounded table situated right beside it. Further, Harry noticed two ancient leather sofas, one by the window and the other closer to the centre of the room. Other than that he could see several historical cupboards, a large wardrobe and a surprisingly small worktable with an old lamp standing on it and many books and parchments piling neatly all over its surface.

Strangely, the first association that crossed Harry's mind was Petunia's kitchen. Though this room appeared to be completely different, dark and ancient, there was not a single speck of dust anywhere. It was unnatural - as if any form of dirt refused to besmear this perfection. Harry did not even have to look at himself to know that he belonged exactly into that prohibited category.

All in all, it was clearly a room of a pedant who wanted to have everything in his life perfectly under control.

Being taken to Voldemort's private chambers by none other than Voldemort himself caused Harry's sore back to stiffen in trepidation.

"I thought it was urgent, Potter."

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and turned after the mocking voice.

Voldemort stood in front of an opened door, watching him impatiently while twirling the Elder Wand between his fingers.

Harry did not answer him. Instead, he passed him quickly, avoiding his eyes. He glanced over the rich decorations of a large, green and silver luxury bathroom and then he headed straight to a marble toilet, stumbling a little since he only had one shoe on (the other was lost somewhere in the ruins of Gringotts Bank). Once there, he quickly lifted his robes, undid the buttons of his trousers … and paused.

After a moment he slowly turned his head to Voldemort who stood a couple of feet behind him, still watching his every movement.

"Err … may I have some privacy?" Harry asked, feeling utterly silly.

"May _I_ , Potter?" Voldemort countered, hissing like a nettled snake. "Since it is _my_ body you're about to bare?"

Harry looked away, considering this for a while, but when he looked back, Voldemort was already gone. He only heard a quiet click as a spell locked the door. That was a remarkably tactful and considerate act coming from someone with such a gruesome personality. No sneers, no further humiliation … Voldemort clearly had a soft spot for himself... Harry was grateful for that; he sighed in relief, taking a leak quickly while trying not to think too much about whose private body parts he was holding.

But more importantly, he was glad that he managed to keep the terrible secret which oppressed his heart for himself - at least for now, because it was impossible to keep it from Voldemort forever, he thought bitterly as he buttoned himself up and went to wash the grime off his hands. Harry tried to imagine what would Voldemort do once he learned that a piece of his soul lived inside him... Would he be furious? Scared? Would he try to help him get that piece back where it belongs? Or would he simply kill him in a fit of fury? Somehow, Harry counted on the second option. Voldemort would not accept it; he would kill him and with his death all the chances to destroy the remaining Horcruxes would be gone too. Harry had to prevent it, if he could. As Snape said, he could die any time he wanted – and Harry was sure that his time hasn't come yet...

He quickly washed his face and drank some water to quench his thirst and hunger a little. Having filled his stomach a bit, Harry straightened his spine, looked into the mirror above the sink and his sight fell at a large bathtub in the opposite corner of the bathroom.

It was steaming.

Harry slowly approached it, curious. It was filled to a brim with hot water and a very simple deduction brought him to realization that Voldemort had to prepare it for him. Normally, that would be a perfect reason to refuse this generous offer, but right now Harry could not bring himself to do it.

Carefully, Harry dipped his forefinger into the water, testing the temperature. It was just right. Already eager to shake off that terrible, unceasing coldness he felt ever since he gained Voldemort's ghastly appearance, Harry shed his garments, piece after piece, and quickly slipped into the water, groaning in delight. The few remaining untreated wounds stung badly, but it was nothing compared to the bliss of the warmth oozing through his skin to his frozen core.

Harry let his head drop to the bathtub's brim and closed his eyes, exhaling softly.

He could not remember the last time he felt so … blissful. Harry would love to spend here all day, forgetting all the troubles and worries tormenting his mind.

Slowly he began to rub his delicate skin, removing remaining bits of encrusted dirt. Too relaxed to open his eyes, he just used his fingertips to find the places which needed his attention...

And then something very odd slid over his skin. It was warm, but strangely scaly. And surprisingly heavy too...

Harry's eyes shot open as something flicked against his ear.

**_"May I join you, Massster?"_**

Carefully, trying to move as little as possible, Harry turned his head, coming 'face to face' with a huge snake. Harry briefly forgot how to breathe. He remembered her, of course, from their last encounter in Godric's Hollow. But that time she was trying to kill him. Now she was enjoying a bath with him … nuzzling him … and resting her head … on his shoulder!

It did not happen very often that Harry was unable to react. This was one of those rare instances. He was supposed to hear her slither into his bathtub, but the recent sensory overload made it very difficult for him to keep track of everything around and unlike Voldemort, Harry missed those years of training and adapting to his enhanced senses.

The snake noticed Harry's petrified face and drew back a little.

**_"Is something bothering you, Massster?"_ **

"N-No," Harry stuttered out in his stupor.

He should have attacked her, of course, he should have tried to drown her or whatever, but his mind and body were nowhere ready to cooperate. He could only watch her leave the bathtub slowly, slid on the floor and disappear in...

Finally, it clicked in and Harry jumped from the water, sank to his knees and quickly followed the snake towards her escape route which was only a foot wide pipe under the sink.

"Damn!" Harry cursed under his breath. He had another Horcrux within his grasp and he let it slip away – again! The pipe was too narrow; he couldn't fit in there...

Hang on!

Harry got up and leaned against the sink. He was a Horcrux too. It was time for him to finally accept it – and use that potential. Voldemort's magic allowed him to change into a snake once. If he could do it before what held him back from doing it again? It could not be that difficult...

Harry began to pace back and forth, trying to remember how exactly he managed to change the last time.

Unfortunately, all he remembered was his fear and desire to escape a certain death under the falling rocks and boulders...

Disappointed, he knelt back by the pipe's outlet.

Harry refused to give up. He forced his head and arm inside, moving further in, even at a risk of getting stuck there. Blood pounded in his ears and somewhere far ahead he heard the snake's quiet hissing...

 ** _"Massster..."_**

The pipe seemed wider now and he began pursuing that voice...

It was very dark and cold inside, but Harry ignored his discomfort. The tube seemed endless and soon enough Harry felt how his muscles began to protest against that abnormal movement of his body.

He stopped at the place where the pipe parted in two, listening for any sound.

 ** _"I'm here, Massster."_**

Harry immediately turned to the left and his long body slithered down into a larger pipe which lead into another bathroom.

This one was darker and also a lot dirtier than the previous one: the floor was covered with bones and other stuff which reminded Harry of human remains.

Sickened to the core, Harry instantly tried to return back into that pipe and escape this horrendous place.

 ** _"Massster never takes on this form when he's with me..."_**

Nagini was right beside him and Harry suddenly felt very threatened by her abnormal length.

Like she could eat him in a blink of her eye, if she decided to do so.

Therefore, he instinctively tried to defend himself, but before he said anything, it got across to him that the snake was not suspicious at all – she sounded delighted.

**_"And he rarely visits me in my den..."_ **

And then she was already coiling her body around his in endless loops.

 ** _"Nagini!"_** Harry hissed, frightened at first that he would become a dinner and terrified later when he realized that the female snake had no intention of killing him. She planned something even worse.

 ** _"Stop!"_**

But the snake did not listen, winding and pressing her muscled body closer to his in an attempt to mate with him...

Harry screamed, and to his extreme delight, it was once again Voldemort's icy cold voice, which escaped his lips. He freed himself from the clutch of her coiling body and without waiting for anything or anyone, he flung the bathroom door open, burst into the empty corridor and galloped away as if his life depended on it.

The Malfoy Manor represented a true maze of corridors for a panicking teenager to run around. Without any windows to guide his direction, Harry soon felt that he was lost forever.

Tired and breathless, he finally stopped and leaned against an old tapestry on the wall, taking in deep breaths. He was so screwed. Voldemort already discovered that he had escaped, he could feel his scathing rage. Harry could only hope now that he would encounter some meek Death Eater, who would not question him for being wandless and naked and who would kindly accompany him to the closest exit.

Which, as expected, was not happening to him on this side of the universe.

Harry palmed his face, trying to suppress violent shivers which racked his body. Nothing could be possibly worse than this. Traumatized, frozen again and soon to be ripped apart – no, this was his limit.

But the quick, heel-clicking steps approaching him fast convinced him of the contrary.

Harry hurried over to the closest door and discovered that it was locked. He refused to stay here in the open without at least trying to...

"My Lord?"

All right, maybe he was wrong with all his previous assumptions.

Harry slowly let go of the handle and turned to Bellatrix, who stood before him, trying to bow to him while ogling his body as if she had never seen anything so perfect and inciting before.

She did not suspect him to be a doppelgänger, Harry realized with relief and quickly attempted to think of what Voldemort would possibly do, if caught in his shoes. But the problem was that the Dark Lord would never ever get into this situation – which left Harry with another, even bigger problem.

"Bellatrix?" he tried, his voice quavery and unsure.

"I-I was just wondering, Master," she whispered, licking her lips several times, "if everything is all right."

Harry had to correct his previous observation now. She was not just ogling him, she was leering at him. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide and she was sweating profusely. Harry wondered if it would affect Voldemort's dignity somehow if he tried to cover himself. Because as much as he hated to admit it, her hungry stare began to affect him a little in the worst way possible. His sanity remained undamaged though, for his revulsion easily prevailed.

"Yes, it is," Harry answered curtly, trying to keep his voice as cold and steady as he could. "Or is there any reason why it shouldn't be?"

"No, my Lord," she said so hastily that her voice faltered. "I was just a little surprised … but immensely honoured and gratified that you've decided to grant me with your godly presence in my private chambers... Am - am I forgiven, Master? Is that why you sent Rodolphus on the mission abroad last night?"

"Y-your … your chambers?" Harry stammered, his mouth desiccating to quality of a hundred years old parchment.

Screw his dignity, he just wanted to scream and run away again.

"Yes," she breathed, her hips swaying seductively as she came closer to him. "My Lord … you know that I only seek to serve you by any means possible. Ask anything you desire, my Lord," she whispered adoringly, "...and I'll do it for you … right away."

"I want your wand, Bellatrix," Harry said throatily, searching for an escape route. "And your cloak."

She was just a foot from him, leaning in, while Harry was leaning away, pressing his back into the hard, wooden surface of the door behind him.

At first her face fell when she heard his words, but then she smiled and knelt before him obediently. Harry could not tell what she intended to do because his head was momentarily obliterated by another monumental wave of Voldemort's fury.

"Hurry up and give me the-!" he hissed between his clenched teeth and when he opened his eyes, he saw her eager mouth almost touching his flaccid member.

Harry's stomach churned. He grasped her hair, pulling her away, but a loud, furious shriek stopped his every movement, stabbing Harry's heart with each livid syllable.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?-!"

The dark haired woman turned after the voice, her eyes wide as saucers. She backed away from Harry, alternating her traumatized glances between the true Voldemort standing at the corner and his perfect copy leaning against the door. She seemed at the verge of faintness, crawling away from them, her eyes glistering with tears.

"M-Master...," she wheezed. "Master … please … don't … I don't understand. Master!"

Voldemort raised his wand.

"No, Master! Please, I-I beg you!"

"Obliviate!"

The powerful spell hit Bellatrix squarely in her chest and she fell backwards onto the floor and remained unconscious.

Only then Voldemort strode over to Harry, who was idly wondering whether he would die right now or just a moment later.

Their scarlet eyes met, one pair of them distressed, the other ablaze with fury.

"Having fun you … WHORE?-!"

And Voldemort slapped him hard, the sharp edges of his nails leaving deep marks on Harry's soft skin.

But Harry did not utter a sound and neither he tried to shake off the other man's vice grip on his arm.

Instead, he slowly straightened himself up again, watching Voldemort calmly.

"Pretending to be a martyr, now? Ready to die - for what? I won't make it that easy for you, Potter! You owe me some answers!"

And with that Harry's inwards flipped over again.


	7. Falling to pieces

xxxxx

Back in the darkened sitting room with long, green curtains covering the windows and fervent heat radiating off the fireplace, Harry found himself standing in front of the massive mantelpiece. Warmth seeped into his chilled body like water penetrating a dried sponge, yet with Voldemort's fury swelling inside his head and his fierce, bruising grip on his arm, Harry barely perceived the pleasant sensation. Being this close to each other, it was impossible to disentangle himself from seemingly endless loops of Voldemort's mind. From glimpses of his thoughts, Harry expected all hell to break loose any second.

"I've been patient," Voldemort began, his voice dangerously quiet and soft. "Kind - merciful even."

Harry gasped for breath as a new stab of rage drove a sword through him. He still fought to keep his mind blank by staring determinedly at some point behind Voldemort's shoulder. Tepid fingers caught Harry's chin, forcing him to look at the dark wizard.

"And this is how you repaid me, Potter."

His anger was more controlled now, tamed to a tolerable level by a strong sense of purpose. Voldemort turned away from him and crossed the dim room, his long robes swirling behind him like clouds of black smoke.

"You think you're safe around me for now, don't you, Potter?" he spoke to the wardrobe, summoning some robes with a flick of his wand. "Safe to do whatever you like – such as discrediting Lord Voldemort by having sexual encounters with his servants." Voldemort's voice became much colder with suppressed malice. "I admit," he whispered quietly, "I didn't expect you would do something like that when you asked for some privacy."

Harry kept his mouth shut, even though there were hundreds of things he would not mind to say right then. He was the one who suffered double abuse from Voldemort's nasty pet and his even nastier slut. Yet, if Riddle refused to see that, there was no point in bringing that out.

"I'm not the one to tolerate insults – and I will not do so even now."

Voldemort's red eyes bored into Harry as he came back and thrust the clothes roughly into Harry's hand. "Get dressed, Potter," he said. "You want to look presentable before the prisoners, don't you?"

"Prisoners?"

The word slipped from Harry's lips before he could stop it.

"Yes," Voldemort sneered maliciously. "Prisoners. They'll be here within a minute."

Harry did not even flinch, petrified by worries as he was.

Was Snape mistaken? Had Bellatrix caught Ron and Hermione after all? And if yes, what would he do?

Harry slowly pulled the robes over his head, barely breathing. Panic pulsed through him as he imagined his friends being tortured while he could only watch it helplessly...

Drowning in his dark thoughts, he almost overheard the distant steps, which were coming closer quickly, becoming louder and louder until they stopped behind the door.

A soft knock was followed by Voldemort's chilly order.

"Enter."

The door slid open and Harry felt an instant, unwanted relief: it wasn't his friends. It was a man and a woman Harry did not know followed by - and Harry's heart nearly stopped again - two children.

"Master?" the masked Death Eater came to halt at a doorstep, bowing to Voldemort, who approached him.

"That will be all, Dolohov," the Dark Lord whispered. The man, clearly relieved that nothing else was requested from him, did not even straighten his spine as he backed out of the room, closing the door.

Harry stepped out of the shadow, watching the newcomers with nervous apprehension. All of them were unnaturally silent and still, staring glassily ahead like some puppets whose strings were cut.

"Potter," Voldemort addressed him softly after he circled his prisoners like a hungry predator. "Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Smith and his filthy Muggle family. I considered them all quite useless, but as it is, they may serve my case in the end."

Harry looked down at the cute blond girl and then at the innocent face of her younger brother. His wide blue eyes and freckles all over his nose reminded Harry of Ron when he first saw him at the King's Cross.

"Why?" he forced through his narrowed throat. "Why are you doing this? What have they ever done to you except being lovely and kind?"

Voldemort crouched down next to the girl, sliding the Elder Wand through his white fingers.

"Ah, you'd be surprised to know that they wronged me almost as badly as you did, Potter."

He straightened himself up elegantly and approached the seemingly lifeless, round-faced man, whose average frame barely reached up to his shoulders.

"Smith is a dirty Mudblood who's been working for the Ministry of Magic for nearly sixteen years. Not very surprisingly, he decided to take a foul Muggle wife, sharing the greatest secrets of our society with her – and some of them even with his worthless Muggle offspring."

Voldemort started to move around the room, speaking in a precisely measured voice, under which Harry could feel venomous anger.

"That would be hardly any of my concern," he continued quietly, "since he's not the first and regrettably not the last one to do so. It's up to Snatchers to deal with this filth. This man, however, went much further than that, when he inherited a fortune after his wealthy Muggle parents and decided to buy a mansion twelve years ago..."

Voldemort paused and Harry winced as his rage suddenly spiked.

"A mansion which belonged to the noble family of Gaunt for many centuries."

Voldemort spun to Harry, his red eyes aflame.

"I trust you know all about the Gaunts, don't you Potter?"

Harry licked his sore lower lip which was scabbed from constant biting as he tried to distract himself from Voldemort's ire. He could not keep himself quiet any longer.

"What does it matter?" he retorted when the Dark Lord raised the wand, pointing it at the bewitched man. "That house doesn't belong to your family any longer! Even your mother already lived in that lousy shack outside Little Hangleton. Isn't it actually better that someone is taking care of it instead of leaving it to rot?"

Voldemort looked at him strangely and then burst into the most singularly frightening laughter Harry had ever heard. It stopped as abruptly as it began.

"Taking care of it…," he sneered, before cackling mirthlessly again. "Taking care of it! He destroyed it, Potter! He erased it to the last brick and stone, building a new, dreadful hovel on its foundations! This filth ruined my true home, forcing the great Lord Voldemort to live like a scum in a servant's house!"

Harry's mouth went dry. For a moment, he did not know what to say.

"I-I'm sure he had no idea...," he stuttered out eventually.

"He will die tonight, Potter. He will die after I kill his wife and progeny before his eyes."

"Don't...!" Harry cried, but Voldemort silenced him with a flick of the wand.

"Theoretically," he said, flourishing his hand towards the children. "I may spare this little vermin, if I feel generous tonight. Their future is entirely in your hands, Potter. Whether they live or die is only up to you."

Harry nodded stiffly. He did not dare to disagree, knowing how fast Voldemort was to kill or punish.

"Very good. You will tell me the truth now, Potter. I want to know everything what you've discovered about my Horcruxes. Let me warn you though: lie to me once, just once, and I shall slay them all - starting with this little girl!"

Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting the nausea.

"I wish you knew … I wish you could feel that what you're doing is beyond evil!"

"We have a very different view of what is right and what is wrong, Harry Potter."

"That we do," Harry said listlessly.

"Unlike you, Lord Voldemort does not seek the company of Mudbloods and blood traitors, the sole reason why our society is in ruins," Voldemort whispered icily. "They are like a disease that poisons-"

"Nonsense!" Harry snapped, the word spilling from his lips before he could stop it.

" _Do not_ ever interrupt me again, Potter," Voldemort hissed coldly, his eyes gleaming maliciously.

"But since you wish to continue already, let's begin. What do you know about my Horcruxes and who gave you that information?"

"Dumbledore told me," Harry said after a short pause, which he spent watching the Dark Lord reproachfully.

"Dumbledore. Of course...," Voldemort hissed, his red eyes flashing dangerously. "How did he figure it out?"

"I don't know! He just shared his suspicion with me. Nothing certain," Harry snapped.

Voldemort made a displeased gesture and stepped closer to Harry. Though they were exactly the same height, he appeared to be looming over him menacingly.

"You're being a way too vague, Potter! Don't try my patience and tell me how you found them!"

"I guess I was lucky?" Harry retorted, but regretted it right away because he made Voldemort turn the wand at the family again.

Harry snarled a curse under his breath. It was risky, but he needed to avert Voldemort's rage from them to himself.

"Why should I tell you," he tried, "when you plan to kill them anyway?"

It seemed like a good start for a negotiation to Harry; a good way to buy some time for an alternate plan.

Only it wasn't. The Dark Lord didn't follow the rules – he made his own. The Elder Wand cut the air like a tail of an attacking scorpion.

"Avada..."

Harry would not have expected it if something inside him did not suddenly curl up in pain. The room spun before his eyes, but only once. He regained self control remarkably fast and then he jumped in front of Voldemort, arms splayed like a scarecrow, blocking the Dark Lord's view and aim.

"...Kedavra!"

It had to be Voldemort's unique senses that warned him about Harry's intentions in the very last second. He yanked his hand away from Harry, directing the nasty green blast at one of the sofas which burst into flames. For a moment frozen in time, they watched each other intently before Harry broke the silence.

"If you want to kill them," he said as calmly as he managed, "you've got to kill me first."

The long white fingers clenched around the Elder Wand so tightly that the whole hand was shaking. Harry could feel Voldemort's momentary shock give way to his infamous fury which mounted in him like a magma in a soon-to-be erupting volcano. The magic fizzled in the air, the windowpanes shook and the fire roared in the fireplace and yet Harry calmly stood before him, composed as never before, his strong will protecting his mind from any intrusion.

The Deathstick slashed through the air once again, this time aiming at Harry. The invisible force unhinged Harry's mind and pierced it like a blazing blade. He collapsed under that assault, screaming, clutching at his head, but the force dug deeper and deeper, pulling out memories he wanted to keep away, safely hidden from anyone including himself.

 _Stiff, clammy hands of the Inferi were dragging him under the surface of the black lake..._

_The scorching heat of blazing treasure was burning his skin, leaving red, opened blisters everywhere..._

_Thousands of ice cold daggers were stabbing his body as he fought with the locket's chain which slowly tightened around his windpipe..._

_Sirius was falling through the Arch and the sight ripped his heart apart..._

_And Dumbledore was telling him: "Isn't seven the most powerfully magical number…Yes, I think the idea of a seven-part soul would greatly appeal to Lord Voldemort."_

_Snape brutally invaded his mind, but it was just a poor, harmless practice compared to what he felt right now. A mere hint of what it could really become and how far it could go._

Something moved inside Harry's chest, awakened and irritated.

 _The green light hit the headmaster straight in the chest and he saw Snape's face curled with revulsion and hate as he lowered his wand._

_And then he was the snake and he was attacking Mr. Weasley, biting into his flesh, feeling his warm blood seeping down his throat..._

Something coiled inside him, hurt and irate. It tightened its clutch around Harry's heart, seeking its warmth and comfort.

Harry was losing it. The last of his defences had crumbled apart, leaving him vulnerable and fully exposed to whatever atrocities Voldemort planned to do with his mind.

_I must die._

This knowledge, repressed and hidden among his deepest and darkest thoughts, was brought to the light, exposed and probed in the most hurtful way. The more Harry tried to shield away, the more he was bringing the Dark Lord in: it hurt like salt in an opened wound, like an acid on his skin. He could feel that Voldemort was getting closer and closer to that burning secret and Harry mobilized all his remaining strength to stop him.

Only it was not enough.

Flooded with pain, Harry's mind was sliding down the edge of awareness into the sweet, dark abyss of oblivion.

And then Voldemort touched the snake which lay curled around Harry's heart and it rose up rabidly and struck against that intrusive force, unleashing such a power that Harry's mind was completely overwhelmed by it.

The Dark Lord's wail of pure agony was the last thing Harry heard before the pain was gone and his head dropped to the floor.

xxxxx

It was the most unusual room. There were hundreds of handmade rag rugs covering everything within sight. Then more teapots than one might think possible. Porcelain dragons with bulging red eyes. Strange cake stands. Miscellaneous statues and painted plates with little messages on them. Pictures everywhere on the walls, so old and pale that no one could say for certain what they originally showed.

Apart from six decrepit chairs groaning under the human weight, the rest of the furniture seemed to have no other use apart from supporting the surrounding junk. The only exception was the spindly table in the middle of the room which held a single, small golden cup.

The room was submerged in a heavy, suffocating silence which was occasionally disturbed by Molly Weasley's quiet sobs.

"Harry … Harry," she whimpered into Arthur's shoulder. "We should have protected him better. We shouldn't have let him go..."

"He's got it coming," Auntie Muriel, the owner of this peculiar room and house, opposed her indifferently while sipping from her glass of Firewhiskey. "It comes as no surprise after his preaching about You-Know-Who in every gutter press."

Ginny, who stood silently by the window, cut her eyes at her disapprovingly, before turning back to stare out of the window.

"I meant Lovegood's gutter press, of course," Muriel specified, finishing her glass.

Ron and Hermione, who sat huddled by the table, looked at each other. Hermione dropped her hand from Ron's scorched, bandaged cheek – a reminder of the dragon's power and fury. The beast helped them to escape Bellatrix and her murderous squad, but they paid the price for freedom too.

"Ron, we've got to do this," she said quietly and her eyes fell at the small cup on the table. "We've got to save him – and this is our only chance."

"I know. And I also know that he wouldn't want us to do it," Ron muttered, glaring at the seemingly innocuous object on the table. "I want to save him more than anything … but if we do this, if we give up this last chance of victory, Harry will never forgive us."

"It depends...," she said, with difficulty, "if we can even think of the victory without him by our side..."

They both looked at Kingsley, who sat close to them, staring dully at the wall ahead. When the man slowly shook his head, Ron turned back to Hermione.

"I wish it was me who fell off the dragon instead."

But Hermione took his hand in hers and squeezed it firmly.

"We are not giving up yet. Leave it up to me."

xxxxx

Harry's eyes slowly fluttered open.

His head was spinning with colossal dizziness. Everything was dark, blurred and totally nonsensical at first.

He tried to hoist himself onto his elbows, but his wobbly arms did not sustain his weight and he sank back onto a surprisingly soft bed. He rubbed his eyes and nose instead, ruffling his eyebrows, then slid his hands over his face to feel the stubble on his cheeks and chin and finally ran them up to comb through his wild, messy hair. The scar on his forehead pulsed wildly, making his whole head throb in the rhythm of his heart. He pressed the cool back of his hand against it, sighing in relief.

As he lay there with his eyes closed, Harry willed himself to believe that the last days were just a horrible nightmare. Definitely the worst one he's had so far, because being turned into Voldemort with no chance of changing back was a way beyond the usual scope of frightening dreams he had to endure on a regular basis.

Pacified to be awake again, Harry half-blindly groped after his glasses which should be somewhere on a nightstand by his right hand.

Strangely, he could find neither the glasses, nor the table.

"What the hell," he muttered, squinting his eyes to focus his poor vision a bit.

"It's under the pillow, Potter."

Harry froze in a mid-breath. His heart skipped a beat before responding with such a wild startle that he actually fell off the bed.

He remained splayed on the floor, unmoving, hoping - no - praying to have auditory hallucinations.

Eventually, after a minute or so, he scrambled onto his knees furtively and began groping the bed in a hasty search for the well-known piece of a metal frame and cool glass.

Just as the cold voice insinuated, his glasses were tucked under the pillow.

Harry put them on, already reconciled with the inevitable. His nightmare had not ended yet. Its living and breathing personification stood on the very same spot by the fireplace where he lost consciousness some time ago.

Harry gulped down several juicy swearwords and tried to use his limited peripheral vision to locate Mr. Smith and his family. They were nowhere in the sight and Harry could only hope that it was not a bad sign. As he surreptitiously scrutinized the room, he could not miss that the décor changed dramatically. The leather sofas were gone, the stone wall opposite to the fireplace miraculously transformed into a library and the undersized worktable in a distant corner could hardly be called small any longer. The old lamp on top of it was turned on, giving the room a weak, sickly green glow.

And there was a bed, of course – Harry could not omit this new piece of furniture since he was still hiding behind it. Which was, by the way, a rather pointless thing to do, so he rose to his feet bravely, clutching his hands into fists cover up his nerves.

"Come here," Voldemort addressed him demurely.

Harry dragged his feet with indecision. Voldemort was giving him no malicious glares, no sneers or jeering and strangely enough no threats of immense torture and certain death. As a matter of fact, the Dark Lord had not even looked at him yet.

Such behaviour was most unusual of him and Harry immediately did not know what to think of it.

Ultimately, he decided that something like that certainly deserved further investigation. He took a step closer to Voldemort and had to stop in surprise at how naturally his body responded. He was thrilled by the way it moved in his typical unrefined manner. Being back in his own skin was a truly delightful feeling, even though he was short, blind and deaf in comparison. The rush of warm blood in his veins (not to mention the pleasure of having a nose, hair and muscles on his bones) was worth all the sensory loss.

On the other hand, this whole situation was tremendously confusing. Harry felt the pain in his scar and caught glimpses of the Dark Lord's thoughts which assured him that the piece of Voldemort's soul did not return to the 'owner' yet.

Still, here he stood as Harry Potter once again.

And he was still alive, which was an even more fascinating development given the circumstances.

"I said come here, Potter," Voldemort's high voice cut through his swirling thoughts. Harry looked at him, at the unnatural pallor of his skin which seemed to produce a strange pearly glow, and dragged his feet again.

"Or do I need to kill someone to have you properly motivated?"

Their eyes met and even though Harry knew he should not be taking such a risk again, he was glad he did it anyway. The red stare was menacing as always, yet it did not hold the same homicidal coldness which he remembered from before. If he had to describe it, he would say that it contained an expression of someone who had to endure a heart surgery while staying fully conscious.

Distracted by that, Harry dropped his gaze to those pale, barely visible lips, which twitched repeatedly with irritation, reminding him that his contemplation was completely inappropriate and his hesitation fatally unwise. Making a quick decision to save his disobedience for more urgent cases, Harry begrudgingly strolled towards the fireplace, stumbling twice over the long robes he still wore.

"You will read this for me," Voldemort said then and handed him a small piece of a crumpled parchment.

Harry's chest tightened in fearful anticipation as he took the note and unfolded it carefully, smoothing it out with his unsteady fingers. The scrawl was neat and elegant but the symbols had, according to his best judgement, nothing to do with English or any other language Harry had ever heard of.

Voldemort, whose face was stiff like a death mask, pointed at the parchment.

"Read it," he repeated, his fierce eyes burning holes through Harry's head.

Harry glanced at the odd handwriting once again, before shaking his head.

"I don't know what it says," he said.

The Dark Lord folded his hands behind his back and turned to face the fire.

"I said I can't read it," Harry repeated angrily. "I have no idea what it says!"

"Then you need more persuasion, Potter."

Harry gasped for breath, once again thoroughly unnerved.

"I _swear_ I don't know!"

"Lies!" Voldemort hissed coldly.

Harry quickly opened his mouth to retort - and just as quickly closed it.

A sudden suspicion sprang into his mind as he looked down at the parchment for the third time. The longer he stared at it the more he recalled doodling similar symbols when he was just a little kid and Uncle Vernon locked him for many long hours in the cupboard under the stairs. And later, he'd been scribbling something like that whenever he was particularly angry or distraught...

Harry covered his mouth with his hand, sucking in a quick breath. The meaning of the symbols began to shape into words before his eyes without any assistance of his cognizance.

And soon he knew what it meant. And he understood why he knew it.

_And now he only had to accept that Voldemort knew it too._

Harry closed his eyes in defeat.

"You know what it says," Voldemort concluded with no trace of doubts in his detached voice.

Having no reasons left to deny it, Harry shrugged his slouched shoulders.

"You've invented a script for Parseltongue," he said.

"Which only I can read, Potter," Voldemort hissed, his tone harsh and cold. "Only I can understand it – no one else!"

"So you've finally figured it out, eh?" Harry snorted, watching Voldemort's long, white fingers scramble in distress at the mantel decorations. "Surprised much?"

A terrifying wheeze reminding Harry of a deadly wounded person escaped Voldemort's lips. He pushed himself away from the mantelpiece and started pacing the room absent-mindedly. If Harry was an unbiased beholder, he would be probably amused to see how the bewitched furniture tried (mostly in vain) to avoid his path (of destruction).

"You don't understand, Potter!" Voldemort snarled at last, when his distress diminished a little. "I would have never hurt myself, if I knew … _this._ "

"But that's exactly what you've been doing up to now!" Harry snapped and winced as the pain in his scar intensified. "I can hardly complain though, since your latest attack was also the reason why I changed back. Obviously, you forced that piece of your soul to protect me and because of that it could no longer sustain the Polyjuice Potion magic! I guess I should be grateful because being stuck in your skin counts among the worst experiences of my life!

"Does it?" Voldemort hissed, his red eyes shining brightly. "But even if it does, I hardly care. All I want to know is how you managed to steal a piece of my soul without me knowing about it! Was it Dumbledore...?"

Harry, unable to help himself, burst into a bitter laughter.

"You think I _stole_ it?-! You think that I _wanted_ it? You think that Dumbledore would kindly present your soul to anyone just to make him suffer the hell on earth?-! If yes, then you should think twice, Riddle!"

"It must be the way I say," Voldemort seethed, his snake-like nostrils dilated as he breathed rapidly. "It is the only acceptable explanation."

"Is it?" Harry sighed, shaking his head. "You have read the Secrets of the Darkest Art, haven't you?"

"How do you...," the dark wizard whispered and then he paused, baring his teeth a little. "Dumbledore," he sneered. "That two-faced hypocrite gave you the book!"

"He didn't give it to me," Harry shook his head again. "He just didn't hide it from me. Anyway, if you bothered to read it carefully, you would know the reason why you are well … crumbling apart."

To prove his point, Harry bent down to the fireplace, took a cold cinder from its edge, pulverized it in his palm and let the ash spill between his fingers.

"My soul is perfectly stable, Potter, if that is what you're referring to," Voldemort said, though he could not tear his eyes away from Harry's hand.

"Stable you say," Harry whispered. "After murdering hundreds of people... Nah, it must have shattered apart."

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't feel it when the other Horcruxes were destroyed."

The Elder Wand sprang from Voldemort's sleeve, pointing directly in between Harry's eyes.

"You also didn't realize that a piece of you lives inside me. Does it seem normal to you?"

The wand dropped, but only a little bit.

"If _you_ read the book, Potter, you would know that a piece of a soul cannot be separated from the whole without a powerful incantation. It's not a spontaneous process – the wizard's intention is absolutely necessary. And I'm very sure I had no intention of making you my Horcrux!"

"Yet you came to kill me with the intention of creating the Horcrux, right? Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't a Killing Curse a powerful incantation enough?" Harry said coolly, gazing into the flaming sea of red. "Because the night you tried to kill me it rebounded upon you."

Voldemort did not say anything to that, watching Harry guardedly.

Unable to stand the stifling silence, Harry looked down at the parchment he still held in his hand before passing it to Voldemort, who took it reluctantly.

"By the way, I disagree with this note. Salazar Slytherin wasn't the greatest of the Four."

"A piece of my soul would never say something like that," Voldemort hissed.

"I am Harry Potter!" Harry snapped angrily. "And not just a piece of someone else! You may have a problem with that, but this changes nothing for me! As the member of the Order I'll be fighting you till the end!"

For those bold words he received a cold, mirthless laugh from the Dark Lord.

"Oh, will you, Potter? Are you even aware of what it truly means for you? Have you spared a thought of what would happen if you won? If you destroyed all my remaining Horcruxes and killed me?"

Harry, in all honesty, did not think about it in the context of being the last Horcrux yet, but he refused to admit it aloud.

Especially when Voldemort leaned towards him with his face contorted into a spiteful grimace.

"I would possess you and both of us would suffer that _pain_ for eternity! Is that what you want?"

"No," Harry shuddered visibly as he recalled the last experience. "I don't. I'd rather lose our duel than that."

" _But there will be no duel, Potter!_ I cannot kill you and you cannot kill me!"

"Nonsense! We cannot possibly stay like this! There must be something...," Harry began, hating to sound so insecure, "...anything what you _can_ do."

Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, but it took him a long while before he composed himself enough to sound mostly unaffected.

"I tried, of course... but I can't retake it, Potter. It … it hates me...," he wheezed, his eyes suddenly filled with immense pain. "It refused me. It chose you over me. I cannot understand that there is a part of me that is willing to help you... That is rather willing to die..."

After hearing those words, Harry took a step backward … and then another one. He could not easily comprehend the true meaning of his words. A mere thought of Voldemort trying to destroy himself was beyond preposterous. Up to now, he was reassuring himself that the piece of Voldemort's soul which lived inside him had no potential self-awareness. He based this presumption on the fact that the fragment never tried to gain control of his mind. Yet, what if the reason was not the lack of the ability, but a full agreement with everything Harry was doing? Other Horcruxes showed more than enough potential to think of their own, so why should this piece be any different?

As if in reply to his thoughts the scar on his forehead gave a mighty throb. Whether it was a form of communication with him or a mere indication of Voldemort's labile state of mind, Harry did not know.

"I wonder," Voldemort spoke up, his voice suddenly silky and cold, "what is it about you that I cannot provide to myself? Why does a part of me, the great Lord Voldemort, cling to you so strongly? Why should you be any special? What is it, Potter? _Tell me!_ "

For once, Harry wished he had an answer. He wished he could say 'you have to do this and that and afterwards we'll both be free of this curse'. But the truth was that Harry had no idea.

"What is it that I have that you lack?" he said instead, thinking fast. "There is a couple of things I can think of … um ... I live quite a normal life with all its joy and sorrow … so perhaps you want to be loved and cherished by the others? Or could it be a desire for true respect and friendship? Longing for a human touch? I don't know, maybe all of that combined since those are the essentials for most people I know...," he improvised quickly.

Voldemort looked at him through his narrowed eyes.

"I do not desire any of that, Potter."

"Well, then perhaps you should ask yourself, because that piece of your soul did not confide in me!" Harry countered, wondering why he was starting this pointless fight which could only turn against him. He decided to credit his empty, tormented stomach, which always made him peevish and impetuous.

Voldemort's mental control was unstable again; Harry could feel the fierce tugs in his scar connected to the wizard's rage and anxiety induced by his denied desires. They were protected by Voldemort's utmost Occlumency skills, squeezed and oppressed in the farthermost corner of his mind, but it only made them all the more apparent to Harry when he compared them to the black, compact sea of cold hatred which covered the rest.

At that point Harry did the only thing which made some sense to him. For the first time he did not recoil from the pain he felt, but pursued it instead. Immediately, the cold, invisible claws grabbed him and threw him out of Voldemort's mind, but before they could do so, Harry briefly saw the desolate emptiness of Voldemort's soul filled with nothing but the small, barely vital fragments of something which was supposed to be alive.

It literally opened Harry's eyes.

"Potter!" Voldemort hissed, barely containing the surge of fury which threatened to overtake him. "You _dared_...!"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I shouldn't have bothered though. It's meaningless to show the truth to someone who purposely dwells on a lie. As long as you think that you're all right, I cannot help you."

The Elder Wand twitched in the Dark Lord's hand, but that was where it ended. Voldemort stepped back resolutely and with a whirl of his long robes he was gone, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts in that dark, gloomy room.


	8. Bare bodies and shielded minds

xxxxx

There weren't many things which could keep Harry's thoughts away from starvation during the lone nightly hours. He couldn't sleep; cramps in his stomach kept him awake.

To make it worse, everything reminded him of a food somehow, even the old, tattered books in the library wall. Chewing on their brittle parchment never sounded so inviting before. He resisted the temptation only because he knew that it would make his ache worse than the Cruciatus Curse.

And that was still nothing compared to that mental wringer which was still fresh in his memory. It was back, the horror he felt when Mad-Eye Moody told the Order that he might be possessed by Voldemort. He recalled how dirty and contaminated he felt back then, unworthy of the company of his friends. At that time, he was certain his possession explained everything from his attack on Mr. Weasley to his hatred of Dumbledore.

He could not be closer to the truth at that time.

And he could not be farther from it.

Because he was not possessed - he was Voldemort – or at least one part of his mind, evidently inseparable from his own due to many years of intimate coexistence.

Normally, this realization would be enough to drive him off the Astronomical Tower, following Dumbledore's example, but if he had to be completely honest with himself … well, he could not say that their forced symbiosis was that bad, aside those occasional brain-splitting headaches, of course.

Actually, he received a surprisingly pleasant part of Voldemort's soul. Cooperative. Helpful even. There was no doubt that without a free access to the Dark Lord's mind and powers he would hardly ever get this far, regardless the help of his amazing friends.

Harry scratched his scar, then rolled to the other side of the soft bed and watched the flames dance in the fireplace from beneath his heavy eyelids.

Really, that inexplicable generosity was the most confusing thing. It could be because that piece of Voldemort's soul fully depended on him. Or maybe because the Horcruxes could not feel, recognize or care for one another. After all, the young Tom Riddle from the diary set the Basilisk on him without having any idea of who he was trying to kill...

It made Harry wonder, out of pure curiosity, what would have happened if he dared to look the Basilisk in the eyes that fateful night. Would he survive it? He probably would...

And what would happen if he talked to that snake? Would the Basilisk listen to him or would it still follow Tom Riddle's orders? Where would its allegiance be?

Harry snorted sourly, before closing his tired eyes.

He would really like to see young Tom Riddle's expression once he realized that he was a Horcrux too...

xxxxx

For the next few days the Dark Lord avoided him like the plague. Harry did not die of hunger only thanks to Snape's reluctant help. His ex-teacher was the only one visiting him occasionally. He usually brought along some bread, cheese or fruits, sneering in sheer delight at Harry's utter dependence on him.

Still, Harry was glad even for the little nourishment he received. He honestly didn't expect much else from someone who once again showed fierce dislike, if not open hostility towards him.

Snape was clearly having a problem with his return to his former appearance as much as with the fact that he was given a room next to Voldemort's private chambers (where he was moved a few days earlier). Harry's apparent survival was not exactly according to Dumbledore's plan either.

The man was convinced beyond any objection that Harry had condescended to some very immoral act with Voldemort and his highly expressive grimaces told Harry what he thought of him now.

Only once Harry tried to put things right by providing his ex-teacher with a rational explanation.

Snape merely scoffed at him and told him how very little he was interested in his private affairs.

_Private affairs._

Harry could envisage him standing in front of Dumbledore's portrait, raving and ranting about his gruesome immodesty loud enough for every previous headmaster of Hogwarts to hear it.

Such a thought always made him want to throttle Snape barehanded.

But then he would have to die of hunger, because Voldemort, contrary to Snape's expectation, apparently did not plan on seeing him again in this century. And who else knew he was here?

No one, in his opinion, which proved to be wrong just the next evening.

He was sitting in an armchair by a fireplace and reading one of those dreadful books he found in his small, private library. Dark Arts or not, it was still better than hanging on the verge of a nervous breakdown or falling into a stupor from a total lack of any activity.

Still, Harry only withstood five pages of that sickly read before he slammed the book close and returned it onto the shelf. He needed fresh air. He needed to get out of this place before he went off the rails completely.

And then, as if his prayers were heard, the entrance door opened and let Narcissa Malfoy inside. Apparently, she had not expected to come face-to-face with him so directly, but much to her honour, she recuperated faster than Harry did.

"Here you are," she said, her lips forming a thin line as she scrutinized him briefly. The next moment she turned away from him and placed a bag she carried along onto a table.

Harry watched her, unsure about how to properly respond.

"I brought you some of Draco's older clothes. They should fit you … reasonably well," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"How come you know... Voldemort told you about me?" Harry stuttered out, wondering whether he should be glad or disturbed that his presence was no longer a secret here.

Narcissa's whole body jerked violently in response to that name. Her pale eyes flickered towards him, showing her fear.

"I'm here on the Dark Lord's orders, yes," she said weakly after a moment.

"And where is Snape?" Harry pressed on, watching her stiff posture.

"That is none of your concern."

Finally, she turned to him fully, but her eyes remained detached.

"Now … if you would undress," she said indifferently.

If Harry weren't so eager to shed Voldemort's robes, he might have hesitated getting naked in front of some woman – even if she was twice his age.

But after that unnerving experience with Bellatrix he felt that he could survive nearly anything. Besides, Narcissa evidently had no second thoughts.

She took the robes from him wordlessly and handed him modest looking dark trousers and a white shirt. The trousers were all right aside being a bit too tight over his thighs. The shirt, however, was for someone with considerably less developed chest. He couldn't button it up around his ribs and his biceps were straining the seams of the sleeves to their utmost limits.

"Um … could you enlarge it a bit here for me?" he asked, pointing at the critical spots but she just watched him warily before shaking her head. She said nothing, obviously trying to keep their interaction at a minimum.

"You won't? Why not?" Harry asked and answered himself right away with a quiet snort. "Why am I even asking? I bet he told you to keep your distance. That also explains why your dear sister was not assigned to do this task. She would not be able to follow that order, would she?"

"That is … very likely," Narcissa said stiffly before taking the bag and turning for the exit.

Harry opened his mouth to ask for some meal, since it was unlikely that Snape would come to see him tonight, but he changed his mind in the very last second. He couldn't risk getting poisoned with Veritaserum. Snape maybe hated him, but he was still the only 'ally' here whom he could trust with food.

So he let her leave without another word, condemning himself to another night of starvation.

Tiredly, he sank onto the bed and eventually fell into a restless sleep.

A loud bang coming from nearby roused him some time later.

Harry sat up fast and put on his glasses hastily. Disoriented, he looked around and noticed that the door was opened. A moment later a tall figure came tottering inside.

Harry blinked.

And then he blinked again.

The person had to be Voldemort according to the pallor of his skin which shone through the dimness of the room. But his movements were so unlike him that for a moment Harry wondered if, perhaps, someone else also tried to transform into him.

This thought, however, did not linger in his mind because soon afterward Harry noticed a nearly empty bottle of some liquor splashing in Voldemort's hand.

Confused, he hesitantly got up from the bed, still unsure what to do.

He watched the Dark Lord come over to the fireplace and lean against it heavily. The man closed his eyes and whispered something, his breath short, loud and irregular.

"Err...," Harry cleared his throat.

Tactful as possible, he tried to point him in the right direction.

"Err...," he tried again. "Your … your rooms are next door, I think."

For a moment it appeared that Voldemort would not respond.

But then he pushed himself off the mantelpiece and turned to Harry, his fiery eyes meeting Harry's questioning gaze.

"I am exactly where … I wanted to be," he said before taking a long swing from the bottle. "Potter," he added somewhat derisively.

In the weak light coming from the dying embers Harry managed to read the nearly extinct letters on the bottle's etiquette.

Firewhiskey.

And Voldemort drank it like a lemonade.

Harry shuddered. He could vividly remember the burn of the alcohol on the way down his throat.

"You're drunk," Harry noted mindlessly. The mere concept of Voldemort being inebriated was too preposterous to be left without a comment.

"Hardly enough, since I can still see you … know you … and know what you've done. Yet…," Voldemort said distractedly before shaking his head in an attempt to bring his thoughts back to focus.

Frustration tugged at the end of their mental link and Harry idly suppressed it, watching the Dark Lord pace back and forth unsteadily. The man came to some decision a few rounds later because he put the bottle on the mantelpiece with a quiet clink and came over to Harry.

"I've been thinking a lot and I have a … proposition for you, Potter," he said then and his slightly rusty voice slipped back into its typical coolness. "A deal if you like."

Harry forced himself to hold his stance and not to retreat.

"I'm not interested," was the only answer possible and Harry said it automatically while privately thinking that Voldemort, being in the state he was, would very likely forget everything they discussed by the morning anyway.

The red eyes, which usually burned holes through Harry's head, were clouded and unfocused, gazing down at Harry's almost bare chest. Standing this close to him, Harry also noticed how atypically flushed his skin was, especially on his high cheekbones.

"You've redressed...," he said distractedly.

"Yes. Narcissa-"

"I know," the dark wizard interrupted him. "How … convenient."

"Convenient?"

Harry wished he could put a finger on what was wrong with Riddle, aside the obvious.

"The thing is," Voldemort continued after tearing his eyes off him, "that I refuse to tolerate our current situation. This cannot go on … forever."

"Forever? Like metaphorically?"

When he got no answer, Harry took a step back and then another one.

"No, no, no! That's not my problem 'cause I'm normal, okay? I'm growing older like everyone else," he hurled out, trying to feel as certain as he sounded. Still, he felt his stomach clench under Voldemort's intent stare.

"I'm not immortal," he said resolutely.

"The piece of my soul in you does not want to be in a weak body, Potter, and your strength comes with maturity. That's why you are growing older. You could possibly even reach one hundred years before you'd stop maturing, but that's the point, Potter. You would stop. Don't forget that gaining power is all that I strive to achieve."

For someone 'drunk as a lord' he sounded suspiciously reasonable.

Actually, his reasoning made too much sense for Harry to be comfortable with it. And though he could not simply disregard the possibility that Voldemort was lying to him, he also could not see a single reason for it. All the Dark Lord ever wanted from him was to be dead for good and since he was still alive, Voldemort apparently had to be honest…

"All right," he finally said, unclenching his teeth. "Let's pretend that I believe you. What do you suggest?"

The Dark Lord made an involuntary gesture as if trying to grasp an invisible bottle. He fought it by clenching and loosening his fingers vigorously a couple of times.

Harry was glad that he didn't practice these moves on his neck.

"You will help me get my soul back," Voldemort finally said, pointing his long finger at Harry's forehead. "If you cooperate with me on this, I'll let you liv ... _leave_ the Manor."

"Before hunting me down and killing me."

"Naturally."

"But I'd be free to leave this place?"

"Yes."

"Sorry, I'm not buying this one."

"Your options are to believe me or..."

"...to be stuck with you forever. I get it," Harry snapped. Somehow, he felt like being stripped of options.

Unless...

"The Muggles," he said suddenly.

The red eyes narrowed at him. Harry could feel their nearly palpable blaze.

"What Muggles?" he heard his icy hiss.

"Mr. Smith and his family."

Voldemort's gaze obtained the quality of molten lava.

"If you are ready to let me go, then you surely wouldn't mind giving them freedom as well, if I asked."

A strange sound reminding Harry of two grinding millstones interrupted the deadly silence of the room. A second later he realized that it was Voldemort's teeth.

"Are they dead?" Harry asked, the tone of his voice almost matching Voldemort's icy quality.

"Not yet. Let's say I had more urgent matters to attend to recently," the Dark Lord finally said, but his looks could definitely kill.

Harry's shoulders slumped in relief.

"Look, if their lives mean so very little to you then their insignificant existence should not bother you either. Let them go home."

Certainly, this kind of amateurish psychology would not normally work with Voldemort, but since the man was markedly intoxicated, his reasoning could be affected to some degree.

Harry was still beyond surprise when Voldemort stiffly nodded. He waited numbly for Voldemort to specify his conditions, but he received nothing aside that dreadful stare.

"So, what do you want from me in return?" Harry asked hesitantly.

The silence prolonged unbearably.

"How are you planning to get your soul back?" Harry tried again.

When Voldemort did not reply again, Harry was definitely confused.

It was unnerving and frustrating at once.

"Look, I'm not an accomplished Legilimens, you know?" he finally burst out irritably, making Voldemort straighten his spine a little and curl his upper lip in something akin displeasure.

"And since when you cannot read my mind, Potter?" he asked peevishly. "I thought that it is not even a problem for you."

"It's definitely not my hobby, if that's what's bothering you," Harry snapped.

"Very well, if you need to hear it, I shall tell you straight away, then. I expect a very intimate service of you, Potter," Voldemort said simply. "Do you want me to specify it further?"

Harry gritted his teeth and shook his head.

Snape was right, he thought as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

_Snape was right, damn it!_

"So, that's how it is," he said quietly, sounding more or less composed.

"You don't appear particularly … traumatized," Voldemort said softly.

"I came to expect my death lately. This certainly…," Harry paused as an image of gloating Snape standing in front of Dumbledore's portrait flashed before his eyes again, "is more difficult to process, but hardly worse than dying."

"Besides, you don't like the thought of it either, right?" he added as his eyes fell on the unfinished bottle.

Voldemort copied the direction of his gaze and his lips tightened briefly. Then he looked back at him.

"I can tell that you actually cannot stand the idea of another person intruding your personal space. You find it nearly … revolting, right?"

The muscles under that white skin strained as Voldemort clenched his teeth.

"So, no matter how bad this is, I guess I'm still better off than you are."

"Your poor assumptions of my feelings can be very misleading, Potter," Voldemort whispered dangerously, regaining his cool. "But it matters not what you think. You will see your precious Muggles off now and afterwards we'll consummate our deal."

He pulled his heavy robes closer to his body and then he extended his left arm, waiting for Harry to take it.

Harry closed the remaining distance and seized that skinny armpit. It attempted to wrench away from him right away, but Harry held his grip tight until he felt the reality flip around him.

And then they were downstairs, standing in front of the door to the dungeons.

Wordlessly, Voldemort raised the Elder Wand and with the quiet snap the locking charm was released and the door slowly opened.

Harry stepped inside the familiar room, trying not to think of the memories it brought to him.

"Hello?" he called out, unsure, waiting for his eyes to adapt to near blackness.

He heard nothing at first.

"Hello?" he tried again, following a sound of a soft whimper coming from the distant corner.

"I'm Harry Potter. Don't be afraid. You're free to go home."

Something moved in the darkness and Harry barely avoided a fist which swung close to his chin.

In a split of a second another one was coming from the other direction.

Harry caught it and dragged the man into the stream of light.

"You bastard!" the man snarled at him and squirmed his hand free.

"Stop it and look at me!" Harry yelped back and halted in the light. "Look closely, damnit! I'm Harry Potter and I'm telling you that you are free! If you want to go home, you'd better follow me now!"

"Potter?" the man muttered and Harry could hear hesitance and hope leak into his voice.

"Yes, that's right," Harry sighed.

"But then … how did you get here? No… no! You must run away! Don't wait for us! You must…!"

In that moment Voldemort stepped inside and the man seemed to suffer a panic attack. He wiped sweat from his rounded face and staggered backwards.

"No… Not my family … please! Not my family."

Harry caught his hand again, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"It's all right. He knows. You are free."

Understanding slowly dawned upon the older man and he shook his head slowly.

"You … you've sacrificed for us? Why for us? You … you don't even know us … you…"

"Please," Harry stopped him by raising his voice. "You must be going!"

Getting the message, the man nodded and hurried to the darkest corner of the dungeons without another word. He spoke quietly to his wife and a few moments later they both stood beside Harry, carrying their children in their arms.

And Harry led them upstairs to the dark passageway and further into the large drawing room.

Quiet voices came to them from the other side and Harry paused for the first time, looking over his shoulder.

Mr. Smith and his wife were practically hanging on him and several feet behind them he could see Voldemort following them quietly.

Harry turned his head back and slowly continued forward.

He could recognize now that the voices belonged to a man and a woman. They seemed familiar, arguing about something he couldn't quite catch. Still, it was impossible to pass them unnoticed, especially now that the small girl began whimpering in fear, even though her father was caressing her hair and whispering soothing words into her ear.

"POTTER!"

The outcry was to be expected, especially since it was Lucius Malfoy, who wailed his name at the top of his lungs.

"Trying to escape again?" he snarled, running towards him while pulling out some old, worn-out wand from his cloak. "But this time I'll…!"

"Lucius," the quietly spoken word nailed the man's feet to the floor. His wife, who stopped by his side, seemed petrified as well.

"M…master?" Malfoy finally stuttered out, bowing deeply to Voldemort as the Dark Lord stepped out of the shadow behind Harry and approached them. "We … we do not understand…"

"That is not required of you," Voldemort said sourly.

"Yes, my Lord," he and Narcissa whispered in unison and obediently stepped backward.

Harry looked around. The rest of the room remained deathly still, except of a shadow which just moved behind the corner of the stairs leading to the first floor.

Maybe he was just seeing things…

"Potter?" Voldemort hissed and Harry shook his head quickly, leading them further into the hallway and finally to the entrance door, which opened wide before he could even reach for the handle. Soon the gravel creaked beneath his feet and he breathed in the fresh night air. There was a fountain playing somewhere behind the neatly cut hedges and he could also hear a rustle of some animal pacing restlessly along it. By the corner of his eye Harry caught a glimpse of a white peacock watching them curiously.

Harry prolonged his step. The wrought-iron gates were getting nearer and nearer until they finally stopped before them.

Harry turned back to the family. They were all watching him, terrified and hopeful.

"Do not stay in England," he whispered and Mr. Smith nodded imperceptibly.

And then the gates slowly opened with a deep, creaking sound.

"Now go," Harry said in a strangled voice.

"You … you won't be coming with us?" the woman whispered, her eyes widening in panic.

Harry just shook his head and took a step backward.

"I can't. You - hurry," he said, because the gate started to close again.

"Thank you … we'll never forget … never…!"

Her husband nodded to him and patted his shoulder and then they ran outside and kept running all the way down the driveway, looking back at him standing behind the once again closed gates.

"A remarkable display of self-control, Potter," Voldemort spoke to him and Harry suddenly realized that he was standing by his side.

"You would have stopped me," Harry said simply. "And you might have even killed them if I tried to break out."

Voldemort said nothing to that.

They stood side by side for a while before the Dark Lord took a deep breath and spoke to him.

"Come now. We have some unfinished business."

xxxxx

And then the moment Harry had been dreading all evening was there.

They were back in his chambers – if Harry could call them his in the first place and he would actually prefer not to do so – and they were completely alone.

And Voldemort was waiting, probably just as nervous as he was, and that was something because if Harry had to describe how he felt right now it would be something close to being eleven years old again, standing in front of the crowded Great Hall and being told to perform some extraordinary magic … _naked_.

He could not even imagine himself coming over to him and start doing, you know, something. Not that he did not have a basic idea of how these things worked. Fortunately, he was not that innocent any more, but the butterflies in his stomach, which were tickling him lightly the first time he undressed Ginny, now turned into a whirl of furious wasps trying to bite their way out of his intestines. Harry suspected it had something to do with the sea of acid that was eating its way through his empty stomach.

As if a confirmation was needed, his belly produced a loud rumble.

Harry flushed from head to toe, wishing for the floor to open and eat him whole.

He clutched at his stomach, hoping that Riddle miraculously misheard the sound but according to his prominently raised eyebrow Harry's hopes were in vain.

The Dark Lord relaxed a little, stiffness partly disappearing from his shoulders as he approached him.

"Other needs must be satisfied first, I see," he said with amusement.

"I'll manage," Harry muttered through teeth, dreading the possibility of being offered a food that he would have to refuse.

"Still fearing of being poisoned, Potter?" Voldemort said softly and snapped his fingers several times. Immediately, a small house-elf appeared before them with a quiet pop. And if Harry could assess it properly, which in the case of house-elves was a considerable problem, it was a female.

She fell to her tiny knees, shaking all over.

Voldemort did not even look at her.

"Bring some food and be quick about it," he said coldly and she vanished before Harry could take another breath.

"Malfoy's got a new house-elf? Finally overcame the bitterness, huh?" Harry said, still watching the place where she disappeared.

"She was ordered to kill herself if you talk to her so you may consider trying to win her over."

"She was _what_?" Harry choked.

"Security precaution," Voldemort replied simply. "Surely not a surprising one."

Before Harry could properly vent his anger, the house-elf returned with a large tray of scones, croissants and vegetable sandwiches and left it on the armchair by the fireplace before disappearing again as quietly as possible.

The sight of food was like a blow below his waist - all Harry's previous thoughts dissolved into a mouthful of saliva.

He gulped it down heavily.

This was going to be hard.

Especially now when Voldemort took one of those delicious looking croissants, bit off its crunchy corner and let it dissolve on his palate.

Oh, how Harry hated him. And his stomach was even more passionate about it.

"Why don't you have some? They are all yours," the personification of evil asked him softly.

"No, thank you," Harry managed to say through clenched teeth, before cursing himself silently for the 'thank you' part.

"I would hardly eat any if they contained Veritaserum," Voldemort returned, the softness in his voice disappearing quickly.

"I am not hungry," Harry desperately held his own, remembering Moody's 'constant vigilance'.

Long seconds passed as they waged that silent battle of determination. Finally, Voldemort raised the Elder Wand and made Harry outstretch his hand. He placed the bitten croissant onto his palm before retracting his hand.

"Take it or leave it," he said simply.

Everyone has a breaking point and Harry certainly felt he was nearing his own. His body made a decision contrary to his will because he gobbled down that piece of pastry with an amazing speed, while wishing he could erase that knowing smirk from Voldemort's snake-like face.

"A sandwich?" Voldemort suggested and picked one from the tray.

"No," Harry said, feeling that his stomach was not ready for more now that it squirmed under renewed nervous tension. "Maybe later," he added, watching the pale hand drop it back on the tray.

The following silence was definitely the most embarrassing Harry had ever withstood. He expected Voldemort to do something, but the man just stood still, waiting for him to initiate it.

As if Harry was ready for something like that.

"We can't possibly leave it for tomorrow, can we?" Harry asked just to hear his own voice over the throbbing of his heart.

"That's not an option," Voldemort replied in a detached manner. Then he turned to the fireplace and took the bottle from the mantelpiece before finishing it at once.

"All right," Harry muttered, watching him place the empty flask back. His leaden legs, however, were nowhere ready to move him any closer to the Dark Lord, who was watching him blankly. Harry ultimately dropped his gaze to the Elder Wand, which Voldemort spastically clutched in his trembling fingers. That open display of nerves eventually helped Harry a great deal in overcoming the distance between them.

"This doesn't have to be awful," Harry said and felt how the red eyes focused directly on his face. "It doesn't have to be. I don't want it that way and … and I think that neither do you."

Voldemort hesitated with the answer. It was that sort of hesitation drunken people do if they do not want to sound too tipsy.

"I rarely share your sentiment, Potter," he spoke and his voice sounded a little strangled.

Still, when Harry reached for the first button of his robes, which was directly below his Adam's apple, Voldemort flinched back.

Harry retracted his hand fast, but it was caught in the motion. The long white fingers curled around it and brought it back to the intended spot.

Taken aback by that, Harry offered no resistance.

He just stood there, dumbfounded, feeling the warmth of his fingers seeping into that cold skin.

Voldemort closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them again, he looked a little calmer.

"Tell me, does your scar hurt you right now?" he asked in his soft tenor and Harry found himself shaking his head. That was certainly unexpected; he wished he could think of some explanation, but his brain somehow was not in a state of full cooperation.

"Good. Go on."

Anxiety was pulsing in Harry's veins, making his head spin…

"I'm not sure I can…," he whispered, desperately clinging to reality.

"It has to happen, Potter. Stop fighting it."

"It's not like you are trying to do something!" Harry raised his voice, meeting the angry eyes squarely.

"And here I thought you didn't want it to be _awful_ ," the Dark Lord sneered back.

"I…," Harry licked his dry lips, grounded by that statement. "I get it," he finally said and before he could change his mind he undid that button and pressed his lips to the base of Voldemort's neck.

He would forget this later because it was nothing personal, nothing emotional, only a mechanical stimulation like wanking or…

But several things overwhelmed his mind in that moment.

First was the smell, which was rather intense, but not particularly intrusive or poignant. It reminded Harry of the Forbidden Forest after a week-long rain. Clean and earthy smell of wet moss and fresh resin. It had nothing in common with that flowery scent of Ginny's hair…

Harry breathed it deeply, experiencing something akin a free fall or a sharp dive on his Firebolt.

And then there was that skin he was touching, white like the rarest pearls, shimmering with magic which was coursing beneath it, powerful and uncontrollable like a winter thunderstorm.

Harry moved his lips over it and felt its remarkable smoothness, a quality which was close to Ginny's perfection, if not better.

And last, there was that moan, forcefully suppressed and yet vibrating in that voice box touching his right ear.

Harry slowly lifted his head, horrified with himself.

Not because of what he just did, he didn't have much choice about that, but for what he felt.

And for what he was still feeling…

It had to stop.

He had to tell him that this was a very bad idea.

The large, cold hand grasped his scalp and pressed his face back into that warmed spot.

Harry gave up.

He would still forget. He could do it … he _would have_ to do it.

Eventually.

But for now, his mouth eagerly mapped the newly revealed skin as his hands clumsily fought the unfair battle with dozens of small buttons.

No, he forbade himself to move upwards, not for the lips … never for the lips. But there was still quite a spacious area remaining which could be touched and tasted.

Voldemort was so thin… Tall and thin like a skeleton coated with the smoothest complexion ever…

Harry let his hand slip under that inner robe, warming the skin he met on the way from his protruding ribs to the hard chest bone. And he was remembering how it felt to be in that body and how much he suffered in cold and how amazing it had to feel to be touched by something so warm, so human…

The panicky grip on his hair was confirming it just as the pounding of the heart right under his palm and the hitching breath in that windpipe he was trying to close with that fierce suction of his mouth.

And then he felt it, just as he dipped his tongue into that hollow between the pointy clavicles and brushed his fingertip over the hard nipple, he felt that cold, slightly chapped mouth touch his forehead hesitantly and graze over it towards his temple and back.

And Harry knew by that point that he could do it, as long as he was not forced to look up and talk and remember - he could do it…

But something else crossed his plans.

It was something he never encountered with Ginny, because females simply lacked that certain part of anatomy which was right now outrageously pressed against his abdomen.

It was like a waking call, like a cold shower in the morning or a slap over the face.

Harry gasped for breath, aghast at how wanton he sounded.

The hand which already warmed up in his hair released its grip and caught his chin instead, raising it up so Voldemort could whisper against his ear.

"Yes, boy, **_yesss_**. I'm ready now … undress ... quickly…"

And Harry realized how deeply in the mess he was.

"What's the matter?" Voldemort asked when Harry failed to respond.

"I…," Harry began hesitantly, before taking a deep breath. "I'd like to be the one doing it," he said calmly.

"Doing what?" Voldemort hissed and Harry briefly cursed the lack of the Dark Lord's providence which doomed him for an embarrassing explanation.

"Well … I'm a guy too," he muttered, trying to make it simple.

"And?" Voldemort snapped, clearly impatient about why he was being told something so obvious right now.

Harry gritted his teeth.

"Well … and as a guy I have certain preferences, which…"

"Can you get to the point, Potter?"

Snap.

"I don't want to take it up my arse! Is that clear now?"

According to Voldemort's expression, it was. Crystal clear, actually. Luckily for the Dark Lord, his dignity didn't suffer much since he composed himself rather fast.

"I will mercifully pretend that I did not hear what you just tried to insinuate, Potter!" Voldemort snapped; his tone brittle and sharp like a knife's edge. "Now undress and go to the bed!"

"Yeah, and why should I do that?" Harry growled, anger and humiliation building inside him.

"You should, if you want to see your friends tomorrow!" Voldemort hissed coldly.

"What?" Harry gasped, taken aback.

"You heard me."

"Wait - my friends…"

_"You heard me, Potter."_

Harry recoiled.

"I see. So here comes the awful part, right?" he said as he started to unbutton his shirt. "You know, for a moment I almost liked it," he added as he pulled the garment over his head. "But your absolute disregard to other people's needs and feelings had to lead to this eventually. I was really silly…"

He dropped his pants right afterward, glad that he was not aroused anymore. He did not want to give Voldemort the satisfaction.

When he was finished with undressing, he spun on the heel, strode over to the bed and sank down onto it, gazing up at the ceiling.

He did not look aside when he felt the bed dip under the new weight. He merely tensed, waiting for Voldemort to assault him, but the man simply lay down beside him and watched him in silence.

"I did not want to be offensive," the cold voice spoke to him after a while.

Harry said nothing, pretending that the coffered ceiling was a way more interesting than Voldemort's words.

"But you must admit that your request was a way too inappropriate."

"Yeah, that's right!" Harry spat out, still enraged. "I don't know what made me interested in the first place!"

"You were thinking of some girl," Voldemort said and Harry looked away, suppressing a thrill of panic.

"Lucky girl to have a lover like you."

"No, I…," Harry looked at him, catching that intense red gaze. "That was a long time ago," he said before turning his eyes away.

"You're seventeen, Potter. It couldn't be that long."

"Months," Harry shrugged.

"Are you missing her?"

"Why…?" Harry hoisted himself onto his elbows. "Why are you so interested in my private life all of a sudden? Do you want to figure out who she is, so you can find her and kill her or what?-!"

"I was merely surprised that you're not a virgin any more, that's all," Voldemort hissed matter-of-factly.

"I see, so you're angry because you couldn't steal just another thing from me! Well, obviously you are too late here," Harry sputtered out and dropped back onto the pillow.

"I would only be angry if she were a Mudblood or worse - a Muggle."

This time it was Harry's turn to grind his teeth.

"Why are we even having this conversation? Weren't you interested in _something else_ few minutes ago? I just want it to be over at last!"

"I was merely curious what made you so … eager. Then I realized that you were thinking of her. And that's the only reason why I am talking about her right now."

"I wasn't!" Harry snapped before he could stop himself.

"You weren't?" Voldemort moved closer to him. "Eager or thinking of her? I think the latter, because I can still feel the evidence of your … eagerness on myself," he said and swept his hand over his neck, which to Harry's utter embarrassment began to show the marks of his immoderate kissing.

"Go to hell, Tom Riddle!" Harry seethed, mortified. "As if I wanted you! The only reason why I agreed to do this is because it'll help me to get rid of you for good and that's the only thing I really want!"

And with that Harry turned on the other side, facing away from him, intent on ignoring Voldemort for the rest of the night.

"Potter," Voldemort hissed, apparently barely controlling his anger as well. "Potter I can force you to-!"

"Yeah! Go on, force me then!" Harry snapped, upset.

But Voldemort did not do it.

Harry lay stiffly like that for at least an hour before his distraught mind was finally defeated by exhaustion and he fell into a slumber from which he was awoken some time later by a strange movement on his chest.

Maybe it was a dream or just his imagination or…

"The morning is approaching fast, boy," the chilling voice whispered into his ear, making Harry gasp in surprise. "And this is not enough."

The Dark Lord raised his head from Harry's chest and then moved further on until he was practically lying on top of Harry, while still gazing into his eyes.

"Wh… what?" Harry stuttered out.

"It must be done … now."

"You can't just…!" Harry yelped as the body on him moved and then he felt something bluntly press against his most intimate orifice. "Are you _insane_?-!"

"Stop yelling into my ear, Potter, and stay relaxed! Or do you enjoy the pain that much?"

And then all air left Harry's lungs, because the resistance of his body was forcefully breached in a tortuously slow motion.

He didn't scream aloud only because his manly pride wouldn't allow it. But he gripped the bed sheets and pulled at them with such a force that he nearly tore them apart. If Voldemort tried to move right now, Harry was sure he would wrench his head off and kick it out of the window.

But surprisingly, the man took hold of Harry's morning wood, which still didn't have the opportunity to go away and with a practiced movement pumped more blood into it.

Harry was on fire, regardless of being enveloped by the cold sheets and body. The hand on his member was making him forget his pain, his embarrassment, himself, everything aside the pulsing pleasure which was building up in his lower abdomen.

Mechanical … emotionless…

Those two words suddenly appeared in his thoughts as if they were imprinted on the underside of his closed eyelids.

Harry opened his eyes and turned his head to the right and in the weak morning light coming through the narrow slot in between the heavy curtains he saw the face of his … enemy?

He appeared as if he was experiencing a godlike pleasure, but it could also be a hellish pain. His face was covered by tiny droplets of sweat, his eyes were closed, but his mouth was hanging open as he lost the battle to contain the sounds.

It was so tempting to bring him closer, to lick that sweat from his upper lip and let him taste it, then forget the pain which was still there, accompanying each of those powerful thrusts and simply give into the pleasure which lurked beneath it, but seriously, who was he kidding?

Voldemort didn't care about him. Well, that was not exactly the truth; he in fact hated him.

He wanted him dead.

More than anyone else.

Harry let the hand, which he unwittingly raised, drop again and left it there even when Voldemort came and whispered his name in a breathless agony. Then the man slumped down on him and Harry looked away, before closing his eyes.

It was over.


	9. Trapped

xxxxx

The next morning Harry was awoken by a loud tapping sound which his still dormant mind automatically ascribed to Petunia's impatient knocking on the door to his bedroom.

"Uhhh … all right, all right. I'm coming, aunt," he groaned into the pillow and searched blindly for his glasses.

A second later a cold, imperative voice interrupted his futile effort.

"Aunt?"

Recognition struck Harry like a lightning and he sprung out of the bed and found himself face to face with no one else than Lord Voldemort, who was leaning against the headboard and rapping his long fingernails on it testily.

Before Harry could stutter out anything comprehensible, the Dark Lord snorted nobly - if something like that was even possible - and summoned Harry's spectacles from the crumpled sheets.

"No, Potter," he said dismissively as he handed them over. "Do not explain."

"It's you…," Harry sighed, rubbing the sleepiness off his face. "Damn! I was hoping it was just a dream."

"Then you would be having the most peculiar dreams about Lord Voldemort, indeed. Perhaps, I shouldn't have woken you up."

Normally, a comment like that would initiate Harry's combativeness. But this was not a normal situation. Harry had to pause for a second and contemplate why the Dark Lord said what he said.

"Stop loitering and get dressed," Voldemort hissed and rapped his talons against the wood once more. "I am very nearly late because of you."

"Late for what?" Harry asked as he picked his scattered clothes from the floor.

"For something you don't want to miss either," Voldemort snapped, clearly not in a talkative mood. Briefly, he pinched the bridge of his 'nose' and Harry mimicked the motion instantly, only his hand aimed for his forehead instead.

Voldemort's hangover was tremendous; Harry could feel his nausea over the fierce throbbing of his scar - which also served as a mocking reminder that everything what happened last night was in vain. And now they had to face it, although Harry was under the distinct impression that Voldemort would rather not acknowledge it at all.

Oddly, Harry did not really feel as much disappointed as he expected. Maybe it was because _his Lordship_ never really bothered to explain him anything in the first place. Hypothetically, he could always ask Snape, who predicted this, but that guy was even more enigmatic than the Dark Lord. Besides, Harry would rather eat the Sorting Hat than describe the events of the last night to Severus Snape.

"What are you waiting for now, Potter?"

Voldemort easily reclaimed Harry's attention, even when speaking in the same measured voice as always. Harry quickly buttoned up his trousers and shirt, stuffed some stale pastry he found on the tray into his pockets (which were actually much larger on the inside than they looked on the outside) and finally glanced down at his bare feet.

"Are you taking me outside?" he asked as Voldemort's icy fingers caught the pit of his elbow.

"'Cause I don't have any shoes," he added before the Dark Lord could admonish him for being an obstruction again.

Voldemort gave it a brief thought. Then he waved the Elder Wand and conjured a surprisingly well-fitting footwear directly on Harry's feet. For a moment, Harry was distinctly envious of his skills.

"Well," he said as he squelched his envy, "You really do know some useful…"

"…stuff," he finished with mild confusion, because the Dark Lord meanwhile sent them down his super-fast teleportation rubber tube.

The change of the environs was striking. The bright morning sun was painful since Harry had his eyes adapted to the darkness of the wizard's chamber. The blinding shine had him groaning in discomfort and rubbing his eyes furiously.

But the fresh air was delicious. It was cool and humid and generally pleasant in every possible sense. Also, having the wind ruffle his hair was a very liberating sensation. It smelled of rain, spring and freedom.

And then he heard a buzz of voices carried over to him from nearby.

Intrigued, Harry opened his reddened eyes … and barely contained a yelp of surprise.

He stood in a corner of the biggest and most crowded car park he had seen in a while.

He glanced around over the dozens of families with kids, young and elderly couples, a guided tour of Japanese tourists and a bunch of schoolchildren led by their teacher.

All he could do was to stand there, dumbstruck, unable to handle the sheer irony of it. But his shock turned to disgust when he realized that Voldemort, who hated ordinary people more than anything else in the world, probably decided to come here and kill them to improve his miserable mood.

Before he could start worrying properly, Voldemort reluctantly released his elbow and dove among the cars, issuing a brief command over his shoulder.

"Follow me."

Still stunned, Harry watched him march away, his black robes swirling magnificently. Harry was naturally tempted to head in the exactly opposite direction, but a mere thought of leaving all those unsuspecting Muggles in Voldemort's nonexistent mercy eventually had him tailing after the Dark Lord.

"Why are we here?" he shouted over the kids' screams as he caught up with him at last.

When he got no response, he tried a better question.

"Where are we?"

Voldemort halted abruptly and Harry nearly ran into his back. He managed to prevent the collision in the very last moment, staggering for a while. Then he took a peek over the other man's shoulder.

He instantly noticed a huge blue information board announcing 'Welcome to Stonehenge'. Then, a few hundred feet behind it, he could see the tops of the massive stone blocks of the popular prehistoric monument.

This direct answer to his second question held his attention only for a split of a second since his instincts warned him that some sort of a crisis was developing right in front of him.

What looked like a spontaneous gathering of Muggles at first now revealed its hidden cause. The three hooded figures which stood behind the crowd were neither the mascots nor the advertising guys as Harry first guessed.

They were without a doubt the Death Eaters. And they were probably using the Muggle-repelling charms since not a single person dared to invade a fifteen foot perimeter around them.

Lastly, but not least importantly, they were blocking out the road to the ticket office, confusing the Muggles who were desperately trying to find an access. Irritation was growing exponentially on both sides.

"You must be kidding me," Harry snarled, bypassed the Dark Lord and squeezed his way through the throng.

"Hey!" he blustered out at the most furiously arguing guys when he got near the centre of the tumult.

"This way! You must go this way!"

But no one was listening to him. So he grabbed the collar of the tallest guy and shook him.

The man was shaken for sure.

Still, he could not see Harry.

Pissed off to the utmost level, Harry shouldered his way out, heading straight towards Voldemort, who in the meantime joined his followers. When Harry saw them bow to him humbly, it only added steam to his fury.

"What the fuck have you done to me?!" he bellowed at top of his lungs, pointing his finger threateningly at the Dark Lord.

"Why none of the Muggles can see me?!"

Voldemort cut his livid red eyes at Harry. His followers cringed even more, appearing to be afraid of punishment for Harry's outburst.

Harry's stomach clenched with nerves but he was nowhere ready to lose his posture yet.

"Well?" he asked, feigning impatience.

Voldemort fingered the Elder Wand in his sleeve, before changing his mind. He watched Harry contemplatively for a moment before speaking at last.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are foolishly brave, Potter?"

Slightly taken aback, Harry hesitated.

"I don't know…," he said.

"Or maybe stupidly reckless. Anyway, I have placed a Muggle-repelling charm on you too. No need for you to make new _friends_ here and now," Voldemort said with slight detestation, "since you'll be seeing the old ones in a matter of hours."

That statement left Harry completely speechless. He stared at Voldemort as if he grew a third eye.

"Let's proceed," the Dark Lord informed his Death Eaters before taking a quick glance back at stunned Harry. "Well? Are you coming?"

Watching his receding back, Harry shook off his stupor and sprinted out to catch up with him.

"You…," he gasped when he finally reached his side. "…you were serious about our agreement?"

"Apparently," Voldemort hissed venomously.

Harry could not miss his glum expression and it made him think. Voldemort definitely had to have some ulterior motive why he was doing all of this. Something strange was going on here - something Harry was not entirely sure if he wanted to know. On the other hand, to believe in Tom Riddle's benignancy would be the same as to believe that Bellatrix's sole dream was to take loving care of poor, blind Muggle orphans.

Still, Harry doubted that Voldemort was contriving some evil plans right now. If he did, he would boast about it, he would sneer at Harry's helplessness to stop him and he would give him all the nasty details, just as he did the night when he returned to his power. He would certainly not look like a man sitting in a dental chair and waiting to have all his teeth extracted.

"Can we talk in private?" Harry said quietly enough so the Death Eaters ahead would not hear him.

"No."

Harry was prepared for this answer, so he did not let Voldemort brush him off that easily.

"It didn't work," he hissed under his breath. "We both know it. Therefore, I am surprised … shocked, in fact ... that you're sending me home."

When he got no response, he pressed harder.

"Why are you doing this? You act like someone who has no other choice!"

Voldemort halted and turned to Harry, watching him intently. The intensity of his glare insinuated that any attempt to continue in this would be Harry's last grave mistake.

"Dolohov!" he snarled, then, and one of the Death Eaters ahead faltered in his step before returning quickly to his master.

"Yes, my Lord?" he asked breathlessly.

"Potter's your responsibility until I return. But let me warn you – any harm that happens to him happens to you as well. Only ten times worse. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely, master," the man wheezed out and bowed to him deeply.

Voldemort Disapparated the next instant, leaving Harry in a rather unpleasant company of another serial killer.

"Fantastic," Harry sighed. He could see Dolohov's dark eyes turn to him behind the mask and he looked away, folding his arms over his chest.

"So we meet again, Potter," Dolohov spoke gleefully over Harry's apparent dismissal. "You thought you'd be escaping the Dark Lord forever, didn't you?"

"Strange," Harry said stoically, stretching his back a little since it became rather stiff with cold. "I thought that I was brought here to 'escape' him again."

The dark eyes narrowed into slits, watching Harry intently, before finally turning towards the green ticket booth and souvenir shops swarmed by Muggles.

"It's all Bellatrix's fault," he said and then he chuckled darkly. "She is so desperate, always trying to make it up for the Dark Lord, but he does not forgive easily."

"What happened?" Harry asked casually, masking his curiosity.

"As if you don't know, Potter," Dolohov said acidly. "You were there after all."

Harry bit his lower lip, quickly skimming his memories for all encounters he had with Bellatrix Lestrange. It wasn't that difficult; they were all quite memorable. But none of them could explain what was happening right now.

"Filthy Muggles," Dolohov interrupted his muse with a snort. He seemed to be disgusted by watching the commotion ahead.

"I wouldn't mind killing two or three right now. But the Dark Lord's orders are clear; he doesn't want the Ministry to interfere."

"I thought that the Ministry belongs to him," Harry noted, trying to read the other man's expression behind his mask.

"Of course it does. It's the information leakage he's worried about."

"Humph. What information leakage? The Order of the Phoenix certainly knows everything about this since they are supposed to come here."

"Unless the Dark Lord wants to set a trap for them in secret first," Dolohov said in an awful, jeering voice.

Harry could feel a surge of fear rippling through him. Yet he managed to keep his voice calm.

"It could be quite the contrary. In my opinion, Voldemort chose this crowded, public place because it would be very difficult, if not impossible, for the Order to entrap him."

"Don't say his name!" Dolohov sputtered out and instinctively caught his covered forearm.

"It's no longer a Taboo," Harry noted, looking around for Snatchers.

"Of course it's not! The Dark Lord knows your liking in saying his name and he doesn't want to be bothered by those lowlifes all the time. Furthermore, you shall know that he would never be outsmarted by someone as pitiful as your foul-blooded friends, Potter!" he retorted and grasped Harry's wrist forcefully. The next instant he Apparated them among the ruins of the majestic monument.

Then he pushed Harry away, seemingly paying him no further heed.

Harry did not mind at all; he sat down on the grass, leaned against one of the stones and pretended to watch the scenery while thinking hard.

The lack of his insight was very discouraging. He wondered what reason could possibly force Voldemort to do all of this. And what had Bellatrix to do with it?

Harry closed his eyes, recollecting all that he had seen and heard. The more he remembered, the less sense it made. He could not find any connection and it frustrated him to no end.

The sun was moving slowly over the sky and as the shadows prolonged, Harry ultimately realized how hungry he was. He pulled out the few stale scones from his pocket and ate them all, secretly hoping that none of them was poisoned.

The number of the Muggle tourists began to decrease during the last hour. The sun was now hanging above the horizon and Harry shuddered; even though he refreshed himself and stretched his limbs, he was still cold. He wondered if Dolohov would mind if he took a look round the monument. He decided to try and see. However, he only made it past the first stone gate when he saw Voldemort again.

His heartbeat immediately quickened and his whole body stiffened.

The Dark Lord was back and he was talking to Bellatrix now – or, more specifically, she was talking to him. Harry listened with abated breath, trying to catch her words.

Alas, no luck. They were too far away and Harry idly realized how much he was missing Voldemort's sensitive hearing.

Still, the mere sight of them was grating on his nerves. Especially Bellatrix was driving him crazy. Harry simply could not stand the way she was gazing at him adoringly, the way she was stroking her breast provocatively or her lascivious, fawning smiles.

Voldemort, however, dismissed her coldly and walked away.

She looked around, her expression a display of disappointment.

And then she caught Harry's gaze.

Harry looked away quickly, but she already saw him and set out in his direction. The bile rose in Harry's throat. He remembered her triumphant scream when she killed Sirius; he remembered Neville's poor parents and Hermione's tormented screeches…

"My, my… What do we have here?"

And there she was, speaking to him in her favourite mocking, baby voice which Harry despised so much.

"Little Potter decided to join us for the evening! He obviously wants to watch more of his friends die. I shall make sure he won't be disappointed!"

"I won't be, Bellatrix," Harry hissed coldly through his gritted teeth. "You'll be the first to bite the dust."

Her long since beautiful face darkened and she leaned closer to him.

"I really doubt so," she whispered, licking her upper lip slowly.

"That's enough, Bellatrix. Step away."

Dolohov approached them, clearly less than happy with her being there.

"Stay out of this," she said dismissively, barely paying him attention. "This is between Potter and me."

"I don't think so."

The man drew out his wand and removed his mask. His stone-like face showed fierce resolution.

"Oh, my... Potter's got a new protector. How … _lovely_ ," she sang.

"I am doing this on the Dark Lord's order!" Dolohov snarled. "And as you well know, Bellatrix, the Dark Lord's word is a law."

"I don't need your protection," Harry retorted, his anger stifling his common sense. "Not from her, anyway."

Bellatrix whirled back, her face tinted with a flurry.

"Oh, but you do, Potter, because I'm going to show you where the true depth of the Cruciatus Curse lies. I was told that you only had a little taste of it so far. This will change soon. I'll make you suffer for every single offense you've done to the Dark Lord!" she hurled out, her voice losing the mocking tone and achieving a sharp edge instead.

"I wish I knew why he no longer wants you dead. I would kill you for him with pleasure – all he needs to do is say a word and I would drive you out of your mind. I would torture you to death. It would possibly take days, but I would do it for him anytime he asked me!"

Could this totally sick obsession still be called love? Harry doubted it; he felt thoroughly disgusted by her words.

"Only he doesn't want you to," he rebutted, satisfied with how deeply he afflicted her with that simple statement.

"He does not want you, Bellatrix. And you know it, don't you? He wants your powers and your loyalty but he is not interested in _you_ , even though you spent years and years dreaming about him day and night, right? Have you ever wondered, Bellatrix, why is that so?"

Harry leaned his head closer to her pale face, his lips barely moving.

"What makes you think that he prefers women?"

Delighted by her horror, he continued.

"Aren't you going to ask me how I figured it out?"

"Y-you…," she wheezed out, unable to catch her breath. " _I - I'll kill you!_ "

She pushed him away brutally and her Cruciatus Curse hit Harry straight in his chest. The pain was beyond insane, scorching him to the core, but fortunately it lasted only for a few seconds. When he came back to senses, he was lying on his back, gasping for breath and twitching in spasms. Slowly, he rolled to his side and watched the growing argument between Bellatrix and Dolohov. Just when it seemed that their wands would do the talking, they both stopped short and dropped to their knees in unison.

A second later, Voldemort stepped out of the shadow, a wand in his hand.

"Dolohov … what is going on here?" he hissed, his voice teeming with malice.

Harry quickly scrambled to his feet, whisking dirt and dry straws from his clothes.

"It's not his fault!" he said quickly. "Nothing happened. I just had a friendly conversation with Bellatrix."

Voldemort turned to him, his nostrils flaring with agitation.

"I heard you scream," he pointed out sharply.

"Oh … yeah. I cannot help it whenever I see her."

"My Lord," Bellatrix got up in a rush, keeping her head bowed. "Potter spoke very insultingly of you. I had to punish him."

Voldemort turned to her, his posture growing even more rigid, if possible.

"Really?" he said softly. "And what did he say?"

"He…," she looked at him and then quickly glanced away. "He…"

"Well?"

Harry knew the reason for her hesitation. Bellatrix was terrified that what he just told her could be the truth. That was something she would not be able to withstand with the poor remains of her sanity intact.

"I merely informed her that you like me better than her. She threw a fit," Harry clarified before she could respond.

Voldemort looked at him, his face unreadable.

"And what could possibly give you that idea, Potter?" he asked even more softly.

"Well, last night…"

"Last night _what_?" he hissed. "It seems to me that you fairly misunderstood something, boy."

"Really?" Harry returned sharply, folding his arms over his chest as a new wave of cold sensation washed over him. Taking a deep breath, he looked Voldemort directly into his shining, scarlet eyes.

"Well, in my opinion, it is you who fairly misunderstood something. And that's what left us stuck the way we are."

"M-my Lord? You let him speak to you like that? I will…," Bellatrix gasped out.

"You will do _what exactly, Bellatrix_?" Voldemort snarled, cold rage growing exponentially within him and refocusing on the dark haired witch.

Harry did not stay there to watch. He strode away, leaving Voldemort to punish her whatever he liked. Now he regretted that he did not use a chance to break away throughout the day. He was just so fixed upon figuring out what exactly happened between him and Voldemort and what was the meaning of his being here that it did not really occur to him to think of something else.

Well, he learned his lesson, didn't he? It was beyond his understanding now why he was, even for the tiniest moment, imagining other possibilities than this one. Seriously, what was wrong with him?

An intensifying cold wind had slipped beneath his shirt and enveloped his body that began to shake violently. He gritted his teeth as hard as he could, but they were still chattering.

"Potter."

Harry did not respond. He did not even look at him.

A warm blanket suddenly appeared around his shoulders and made him stiffen with surprise. He turned around and saw Voldemort approach him slowly.

"I don't need it," he said angrily, refusing to feel grateful. "I felt a lot worse when I was stuck in your skin."

"I can imagine."

Harry turned away from him, resuming his observation of the darkening landscape in silence.

"I think you wanted to talk to me, Potter."

Harry's throat narrowed, but on the outside he just shrugged, looking down at his black shoes.

"Not anymore. You won't tell me the true reason why I am here so I won't bother to ask. I was also a bit confused about … yesterday, but now I have a pretty clear idea of what went wrong."

"Have you?" Voldemort whispered sarcastically. "Then you're the only one. I cannot explain that failure. I did everything according to the instructions."

Harry looked up at the Dark Lord, disbelieving. He did his best not to actually gape at him.

" _Instructions?_ Wait a second. Let me get this straight – did some mighty ex-dark lord write a _book_ about how your dick in someone else's arse can help you retrieve your soul? Well … wow, I didn't know it was supposed to be that easy."

It was impressive how quickly Voldemort could pull out his wand and press it against Harry's breastbone. Harry practically did not see the movement.

But the searing pain in his scar nearly split his head in half and Voldemort's freezing voice made it even worse. It pierced Harry's brain like a knife while he was fighting the surges of nausea.

"Sex creates the most intimate bond between two people!" he hissed cruelly.

Harry staggered and swallowed heavily.

"It's … it's not that simple," he managed to reply, trying to recuperate a bit.

"Quite the contrary, Potter! It is very simple. I asked your permission and you agreed. And no one can say that it wasn't mutual, even you can't deny that," he said, pulling away his high collar a bit to show Harry a large purple bruise at the base of his neck.

"I fulfilled the conditions. It should have worked!"

"Oh, I see… That's why you wanted me to initiate it," Harry said, more or less composed again. He pressed the cool back of his hand against his burning scar and sighed.

"Anyway, you clearly forgot the most important condition of all."

Voldemort opened his mouth to retort, but then he rolled the Elder Wand in his palm with indecision. Finally, he lowered it from Harry's chest, allowing him to breathe freely again. There was slight hesitation, a first hint of uncertainty in those calculating red eyes.

"What condition?"

"Affection. We shared nothing, Tom. Tell me, how do you want to create an intimate bond with someone you hate? With someone you want dead? That's a total contradiction!"

Something flashed in Voldemort's eyes, but it was gone before Harry could identify whether it was surprise or dawning understanding. Then the Dark Lord looked away, caressing the Elder Wand mindlessly with his long white fingers.

Harry shook his head and pulled the blanket closer to his body.

"I may have thousands of reasons for hating you," he said a moment later, "but I didn't start this. You did. You came into the house of my parents, you killed them and you tried to kill me when I was just a little baby. I don't get it, really. If you believed in that goddamn Prophecy so much, why couldn't you just wait until I was older and see if I truly meant a threat? What is it about me that you hate so much?"

The spidery fingers flexed on the wand's smooth surface.

"It's not that personal, Potter. At least not as much as you think…"

"I find it very hard to believe that."

Voldemort took a sharp breath. His gaze became slightly unfocused, as if he was watching something appalling approaching him from mid-distance.

"You're like destiny I can't escape."

"Sounds quite personal to me," Harry whispered, following the direction of his gaze. "So you are afraid of me, aren't you? That's where all this hatred stems from. You're afraid."

Voldemort looked at him, completely taken aback at first, but then he burst into a terrifying, cold laughter.

"What childish dream you're living in, boy? Afraid of you? You're no match to me!"

"Well, I don't think it's necessarily my magical skills that you fear."

"What else then?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged again, scratching his scar mindlessly.

"But damn…," he sighed. "It must be something really gruesome."

"Gruesome," Voldemort repeated after him and tilted his head a little, considering it. Harry expected him to laugh again, but he did not. He remained silent and Harry found himself staring at his big pale hands, which would be disproportionately large for anyone's body but his. And then he could not stop his eyes from glancing up at Riddle's strange facial features, which made so many people cringe in terror. Harry, however, could not bring himself to describe his face as something repulsive. There was something strangely fascinating about Lord Voldemort - in a rather morbid way, of course. It was making his stomach queasy.

"You cannot be really gruesome, when you don't mean to harm anyone," Voldemort finally said, looking back at him.

"Meaning that I was … towards you."

Voldemort paused, watching him strangely.

"This is a war after all," he said then.

"Yeah … this is a war."

Harry did not even try to hide bitterness in his statement. A civil war was the worst of all since it was often the relatives who killed each other for different beliefs and opinions. And Voldemort's hatred of Muggles and Muggle-borns was a driving force in this one. Did it really have to end this way?

A long strained silence followed, filled with nothing but the sound of their breaths and mutter of a distant conversation. Harry saw more Death Eaters now - ten or twelve - he couldn't tell the exact number. Most of them were casting some spells or discussing the plan Harry knew nothing about.

"We still have more than twenty minutes left," Voldemort finally spoke and looked down at Harry. "We might as well give it another try if you tell me what exactly I am supposed to share with you."

Harry gasped. If he did not know any better, he would think Voldemort was joking. It was impossible to determine what perplexed him more; whether the point-blank proposal of further illicit activities or the non-committal voice which accompanied the suggestion.

"You mean here?" he asked derisively when he got over his initial perturbation. "With Bellatrix watching? Well - no, thanks. I much rather go home and forget this ever happened. Besides, I'm pretty sure that one misunderstanding a day is quite enough."

"So you're ready to stay like this."

"Not quite."

"Then why don't you ….," Voldemort flexed his digits with aggravation as he was forced to say the next word, "…help me?"

"You don't really get it, do you?" Harry snapped, before running his fingers though his hair exasperatedly. "As long as you don't know what to do by yourself, as long as you have to ask me what to feel, as long as you have to read _manuals_ and follow _instructions_ , I cannot help you."

"Even if I wanted to, of course," he added quickly. "I'm not making the same mistake twice."

"Mistake you say," Voldemort said sourly. "Surely not as big as the one you're about to make by returning home. I suggest you to think twice before leaving with them because I cannot save you both!"

"Save _us both_?"

Harry was lost. Did Voldemort just try to give him a clue to this mystery? If yes, it was not very helpful.

"I have a question for you, Potter. Try to answer it honestly. Are you sure that your friends love you more than they hate me?"

Harry blinked at him in confusion.

"What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer it."

"Y-yeah," he said, disturbed. "Yeah, I think so."

"And can you say that about every member of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Just what are you trying to achieve by asking me…? Hang on," Harry said as understanding suddenly dawned on him. "You're afraid that they could kill me the moment they learned that a piece of your soul resides inside me, right?"

When Voldemort did not answer, Harry shook his head.

"They wouldn't do that," he whispered.

"So, you think that their blind belief in the Chosen One," Voldemort said mockingly, "is stronger than their raw desire to eliminate a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul."

"Eliminate a piece…," Harry muttered quietly, his eyes becoming wider with deepening realization.

"Oh Merlin … it's the cup!" he yelped. "They still have Helga's cup! What if they didn't destroy it? What if they want to … what if they want to exchange it … for me," he whispered, horrified. "I bet they threatened you with its destruction – and now you have to give up one Horcrux in order to obtain the other! That's why you said you cannot save us both! You meant me and the cup! Also … I can finally see how this is Bellatrix's fault…"

Harry took a step back, feeling rather overwhelmed.

"I can see now why you were so desperate to retrieve that piece of yourself out of me."

Harry pointed at himself before curling his fingers into a fist.

"If you succeeded, you would have all your Horcruxes under your protection again … and you could kill me right away!"

He laughed out, loudly and bitterly, before slamming his fist into the cold monolith by his side. So this was the benignity of Lord Voldemort. This was the answer he was searching for.

"I'm sorry, Riddle," he forced out of his constricted throat. "I'm afraid your plans are doomed to fail."

The silence which followed was long and oppressive, but when Voldemort spoke to him again, he took Harry by surprise.

"Isn't it a bit arrogant of you, Potter," he said coldly, "to believe that you know everything about me better than I do?"

The moment he said it Harry had to admit that he might be right. In his excitement to finally reveal the truth, he did not mind to make a couple of brash conclusions, mostly because they all fitted in his scheme perfectly.

Their eyes met and Harry's stomach clenched again. Something was hanging in the air, something Harry could not quite pinpoint, yet he was perfectly aware of it. One part of him was nagging at him to apologize while the other was telling him that he had nothing to apologize for.

"Perhaps I misunderstood something again?" he said instead.

"Perhaps," Voldemort replied, keeping their eyes locked.

Unable to stand it any longer, Harry dropped his gaze to his neck, taking a notice of that purple contusion there. Memories flooded him at that sight.

He tried to chase them away, but…

"Why didn't you heal that bruise?" he asked, feeling suddenly very hot for no apparent reason. Perhaps he should drop the blanket that was still wrapped around his shoulders.

Instead, he slowly took a step closer to him, giving into his sudden desire to inspect it.

Voldemort drew in a sharp, surprised breath, but he did not stop him.

"I bet it hurts," Harry heard himself speak, barely aware of how his rationality was melting away like a snowflake in a flame. He raised his hand and touched his neck lightly and it made his scar pulse wildly, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. The pronounced Adam's apple jumped under his fingertips.

The quick breath fanned the back of his hand and he realized how unexpectedly moist and warm it was…

And those wide red eyes, which were so alien few moments ago, now expressed the most basic needs of any man. Harry could feel them all the way down to the bottom of his soul. He could easily identify with that crushing loneliness and that need of a companion…

"My Lord!"

Harry jerked his hand away fast, refusing to acknowledge what he just did.

Was he going crazy or something?

But Voldemort's furious hiss drew his attention back to him. The man whirled around, his black robes swirling, and he pointed his wand at the intruder.

"Crucio!"

The Death Eater dropped to the ground and his desperate screams resonated among the massive stones, growing in intensity second by second.

"Stop it!" Harry yelped, but Voldemort ignored him.

"I said that's enough!" he repeated more loudly and caught the Dark Lord's armed hand.

Voldemort wrenched away from him, turning the wand on him.

Harry's breath died in his windpipe. He raised his hands a little, waiting.

No curse came out.

The Death Eater's moaning was eventually interrupted by distant cracking sounds accompanying Apparation.

"Macnair," Voldemort finally said, his crimson eyes still glued to Harry. "Go and fetch me Draco Malfoy. Now."

The Death Eater rose to his feet, still shaking.

"Of course, master," he whispered and disappeared in the shadows.

"It seems your friends just arrived," Voldemort whispered then, lowering the wand. "By the way, do not ever cross this boundary again, Potter," he added in a tone that considered that matter closed.

Harry silently agreed. He did not know what reckless impulse made him risk his life for a nasty Death Eater.

A moment later, three hooded figures approached Voldemort and bowed to him deeply.

"I believe I asked only for Draco and not the entire Malfoy family," Voldemort said derisively, not even bothering to properly look at them. "Lucius, Narcissa - leave."

Harry saw how the couple exchanged a terrified glance before slowly backing away.

Draco sank to one of his knees, unnerved. He was gulping quickly and his skin was almost as pale as Voldemort's. Harry also noticed that he looked thinner than before, although he was wearing a thick black robe.

"I have a task for you, Draco," Voldemort spoke to him quietly. "A task in which you must not fail."

"Yes, my Lord," Draco breathed out in a barely audible voice.

"You will accompany Harry Potter to the meeting point where you will be given a small box from one of the members of the Order. You will open the box and inspect the golden cup inside for any damage. You will also verify its authenticity. Failing to do so would lead to a very severe punishment."

"I un-understand, my Lord," Draco stuttered out weakly.

"If the cup is missing, damaged or a fake, you will notify me immediately."

"Of course, master."

"Now, look at me."

Draco's whole face froze in terror. But he did not dare to disobey. Slowly he lifted his chin and met Voldemort's eyes.

"Now you know what it looks like," Voldemort said after a moment. "You must be absolutely sure that the cup is what they proclaim it to be. Only then you will allow Harry Potter to…," Voldemort paused, giving Harry a meaningful look, "…leave."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good. Go now."

Draco got up and with his back still bent he retreated slowly.

Harry made a step to follow him, but Voldemort caught his wrist.

 ** _"Tell them that you want to stay,"_** he hissed quietly, urgently.

Harry hesitated for a second, but then he looked up, his face expressionless.

 ** _"Goodbye,"_** he hissed under his breath and freed his hand.

He set off to follow Draco, but eventually looked back.

Voldemort was gazing away, his face blank, but Harry knew it was just a pretence.

Could Tom Riddle really become this strongly attached to a piece of his soul? He did not seem to be this aware of his other Horcruxes, or else he would hardly leave them alone in those desolate places...

"Come on, Potter!" Draco spoke to him harshly, breaking into his thoughts. "Everyone's waiting."

Harry nodded stiffly and decided that whatever Voldemort's reason was, it should not matter to him. He would see his friends soon and that knowledge erased the bitterness residing on his palate.

He followed Draco until they came to the very edge of the inner circle of the massive stones. It was very dark already, but Harry could still recognize the outlines of the bodies hiding behind the stones.

Draco halted for a moment. He looked to the left where Harry could see his terrified parents, who were preparing to protect him if anything went wrong.

Licking his dry lips, Draco pushed Harry in front of him, pressing the tip of his wand between his shoulder blades.

"Go, Potter," he commanded quietly.

Harry set off without hesitation. He walked briskly towards the other side until Draco told him to stop.

They stood exactly in the middle of the circle, waiting.

"Potter's here!" Draco eventually called out to them. "Bring me the cup now."

At first nothing happened, but then two tall figures separated themselves from the shadows, heading towards them.

Harry's heart hammered in his chest. He was just so excited and eager to recognize them...

The first was a tall, lanky young man. His red hair looked particularly strange in the weak light, and his long nose was surely covered with freckles…

"Ron!" Harry yelped with excitement. He had to hold himself off from sprinting towards him.

"Harry!"

His best friend waved at him from afar.

"He's fine!" he called out happily. "Harry's alive!"

"We don't know it yet. He could be an impostor."

Harry recognized Kingsley's deep voice in that instant and his smile grew wider.

"It's so great to see you again," he said, taking a step towards them, but Draco pushed him back.

"Where's the box?" he asked impatiently and Harry detected a trace of panic in his voice.

"It's here," Kingsley said and pulled it out of his robe as he came to stand in front of him. Nevertheless, he did not place it into Draco's waiting hand.

"First," he said, "we need to be sure that this is really Harry Potter."

"Just give me a wand," Harry said quickly, "and I'll conjure my Patronus."

"That would be most unwise," Kingsley said slowly and Harry understood his point. Giving a wand to a potential Death Eater in this very dangerous situation could easily be the last thing he would ever do.

"If you really are Harry Potter…," Kingsley continued, "…you won't mind drinking this."

He pulled out a little vial, offering it to Harry.

_Veritaserum._

The very thing Harry feared the most during his captivity.

His stomach lurched at the possibility of Kingsley asking him to describe what exactly happened during his capture. He would eventually tell them the events of the last night and Ron and Draco would be listening...

Harry's shaking hand stopped just an inch from the offered vial. What was his other option? If he refused to drink it, his friends would think that he was a polyjuiced Death Eater and that this was a trap and then they would try to kill him or worse, they would leave without him.

That decided it.

He had to do this. He had to risk it.

"Don't worry, mate," Ron whispered encouragingly. "Just a few routine questions."

Harry took the vial, uncorked it and drank the content before he could change his mind. It was just a few drops, but the effect was immediate. It reminded Harry of the Imperius Curse, only stronger, and unlike that forbidden magic, he was still aware of himself. Yet he would not mind telling everyone that he pissed his bed at the age of eight if they asked.

"What is your name?" Kingsley asked and Harry grinned at him stupidly.

"Harry James Potter," he said.

"Are you a member of the Order of the Phoenix?"

Well, Dumbledore never officially named him, but that was mostly because he did not have an opportunity. He died before Harry was old enough to become one of them. But he always wanted to be one and that was also what he said aloud.

"Yay!" Ron yelped, already celebrating.

"Did you…," Kingsley began, but then he changed his mind. "Were you forced to betray the Order?"

Harry had to think about it for a second. Curiously enough, Voldemort was not interested in the Order at all.

"No. Voldemort relies on the information he gets from Snape," he said simply.

Ron and Kingsley exchanged disturbed looks, but none of them commented on it.

"All right, one last question," Kingsley said, apparently wishing to be done with this. Harry did not understand why; he only started to enjoy this questioning.

"Why You-Know-Who did not kill you?"

"Because he would kill himself," Harry said immediately. "Partly," he added as an afterthought. "The thing is that…"

"All right! That's enough." Kingsley stopped him, giving him another vial quickly. "Drink this."

Harry obeyed without any protest, feeling how the veil was instantly lifted off his mind.

He looked at the faces of his friends, trying to read in their expressions.

"W-what did I say?" he stammered out nervously.

Ron took a step closer to him and then another one.

And then he hugged him.

"Harry," he sniggered. "We missed you so much."

"Stop it Weasley," Draco sputtered out. "You're so sentimental that it's ridiculous. Now give me the box! He wants the box!"

"Take it, Malfoy," Kingsley said, handing it over. "I wonder why he sent you and not someone more … dangerous."

"Apparently, he wants this to go smoothly," Harry mused, while Draco quickly opened it and inspected the content. Ron winced a little.

"A powerful Death Eater would increase a risk of a fight," Harry continued, unaware of Ron's growing discomfort.

Draco cast a few spells and finally he seemed satisfied.

"You see, Draco," Kingsley said calmly. "It's authentic and in a perfect condition. You can take it to your master now."

Relieved beyond any description, Draco smiled.

"All right. See you later, Potts," he smirked and reached out to take the cup from the satin cushion.

"Don't."

Ron said it so quietly, that Harry almost misheard him.

But he didn't … and neither did Draco.

The young Death Eater froze in the middle of the movement, his eyes shooting from Harry to Ron to Kingsley and back.

"W-what?" he stammered. "What's wrong?"

If he didn't ask that, Harry was sure that he would.

"Nothing," Ron said quickly, but he did not sound very convincing.

"Something's wrong with it, isn't it?" Draco whispered, losing the colour from his face.

"He's gonna kill me," he muttered, taking a wobbly step backwards. "He's gonna kill me if I fail."

Harry could not stand the pressure any longer.

"What's going on here, Ron?" he asked, angry and unnerved.

"We must go, Harry," Ron whispered, taking a hold of his hand and dragging him away.

"No, wait! I need to know what…!"

_"I knew it!"_

An icy, enraged voice interrupted Harry, chilling him to the bone. It was as if an army of Dementors just emerged right behind him. He turned around stiffly and saw Voldemort materialize out of the thin air. It was not an Apparation. He had to be using the Disillusionment Charm which meant that he had to be somewhere close all the time. Ron gave out a squeak of terror.

Voldemort's pale face was livid.

"I knew that the Order would try to trick me somehow!"

Deciding this counted as a crisis, Harry forgot his rationality and reacted on pure instinct. He pushed the blanket off his shoulders, whipped the box out of Draco's stiff hands and sprinted out. His mental processes were reduced to a thought that if Voldemort followed him, he would not have a chance to hurt his friends.

Harry had no idea what was wrong with the cup. He only knew beyond any doubt that whoever touched it would suffer terrible consequences.

And then the screams reached him; curses were flying everywhere, one of them burning his back nastily, another blasting the massive stone apart. But Harry was determined to carry on. The first circle of the stones was just a couple of meters away. He ducked his head and took a sharp turn to the right.

And then his thoughts scattered under a surge of horrible, intolerable pain. He yelled at the top of his lungs and dropped to the ground, writhing in those bone-breaking spasms again.

After several excruciating seconds the pain receded a bit and he heard a loud, high-pitched laugh.

"Who was the one to bite the dust first, Potter?" Bellatrix sang cheerfully, dancing around him. "Was it you, or was it me?"

Harry opened his eyes and tried to locate the box.

Alarmed, he realized that it was open. He must have smashed it when he dropped it… Fighting against his pain, Harry raised his head and saw the cup lying on a grass several feet ahead of him.

"The Dark Lord will kill you now and I will be rewarded," Bellatrix continued happily and kicked Harry in the ribs as she passed him on her way towards the golden treasure. "Or maybe I should kill you myself. He will cherish me for being his most faithful again."

She bent down, reaching out to seize the cup at last.

"I will be his favou…"

Her fingers touch the metal and something silenced her.

Harry saw her eyes grow comically wide, giving her face a strange, surprised expression. Veins protruded under her skin around her eyes and mouth sickeningly. She tore her hand away with a mighty screech and then with a loud crack, she disappeared.

Harry sighed with relief and turned his head back to the centre of the fight.

He saw Voldemort duelling Kingsley and Lupin, Fred blocking Dolohov's curses and Ron working with George on sending Fenrir Greyback to his knees. There were many others, but he could not recognize them over the darkness and growing chaos. However, he noticed two Death Eaters who were clearly after him, approaching him quickly.

Harry turned back fast, crawling towards the cup.

More curses sang in his hair and he lay down to avoid them.

"Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus!"

Harry's heart leaped as he recognized that voice and saw the Death Eaters drop to the ground.

"Hermione!" he called, looking wildly around while rising to his feet.

"Harry!"

And then she was there, hugging him warmly, sobbing into his ear.

"Are you all right? We must go! Quickly!"

"We must find the cup!" Harry said quickly, trying to find the golden object which he lost from his sight.

Then another Death Eater appeared out of nowhere, trying to strangle Hermione.

Harry's fist collided with his mask with such a force that he cracked it – along with his own bones. Suppressing a scream of pain, Harry twisted the Death Eater's wand out of his hand, pointing it at him.

"Stupefy!"

Hermione was faster. The man dropped to the ground, unaware of himself anymore.

"Harry, we must run!"

But Harry turned back again, searching for the goddamn relict. He couldn't see it – it was too dark there.

"Lumos," he whispered, dodging another spell.

"Harry, he is coming!"

Hermione's screech made him turn in her direction and then he saw him. Voldemort was flying towards them and nothing seemed to be able to stop him.

_"Harry, please!"_

He grasped her hand, running away as fast as he could, both of them stumbling over the scattered stones.

But then something made him stop, almost against his will.

He turned around and saw that Voldemort found what he was looking for and now he was leaning down to retrieve it … exactly like Bellatrix did.

Harry felt as if someone just punched a hole through his chest. Whatever it was that made him give into that momentary insanity, he did not know. He did not have time to make any conscious decision about it. His heart, his lungs and his body took over his mind.

"DON'T TOUCH IT!" he roared so loud that even the majestic stones seemed to vibrate with that sound.

Voldemort froze, his fingers hanging mere inches above the cup.

His eyes searched Harry out and for the first time ever Harry felt some sort of a mutual connection.

The battle around them gradually ceased and now everyone was watching them in silence.

The Dark Lord slowly straightened his spine – he was the only person moving at all. Some of the Death Eaters took it as a sign to continue, but he raised his hand in a clear gesture that commanded his troops to stop – and retreat.

"Harry."

Hermione's whisper and the clutch of her hand roused Harry from his stupor.

He followed her as if in a trance, looking over his shoulder all the time.

Voldemort was watching him too, but he did not move.

Harry did not think … he could not think at all. Because he would have to admit to himself that he just betrayed the Order – which was something unthinkable.

Finally, someone else took a hold of his elbow, speaking to him in a soothing voice.

Harry did not listen to them.

Never before he was so afraid of returning home.


	10. The New Hiding Place

xxxxx

Soon upon his arrival at the doorstep to the new Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry realized that his worries were mostly unwarranted. The moment the compressing darkness finally released him, he was surrounded by his friends and handed down from embrace to embrace in an ear-splitting noise of celebration.

Harry would have understood the clamour if he just killed Voldemort and not the apparent opposite (which was something he still could not properly wrap his mind around). Guilt gripped him at the sight of their happy faces covered in dirt and sometimes even in blood.

Ron and Hermione were clinging to his neck the most and he reciprocated, trying to push all the dark thoughts to the farthermost corner of his mind. Fred then came around and hugged him twice, joking that he stood in for Charlie, who had to return to Romania and George, who also would not miss a chance for a prank, tried to kick Harry's butt as in for traitorous Percy. His plans were, however, thwarted by Molly Weasley, who saw right through him and screamed at him for a good minute before hugging Harry as well.

"Harry," she said tearfully before pulling away a bit, then holding him at the arm's length and watching him from head to toe with an assessing gaze. "You're so thin! Come … hurry inside, the dinner is ready."

Harry muttered his thanks distractedly, still looking around, unable to think of any food now, even though he had been starving throughout the last week.

He only managed to take a brief glance at the mansion, which looked barely habitable from the outside, before Ron and Hermione manoeuvred him inside. Fortunately, the interior was not half as bad which meant that the shabby design was probably a part of the camouflage.

"It's amazing that you're still in one piece, Harry," Tonks smirked at him as she joined them. "Considering that you've been You-Know-Who's prisoner for almost nine days!" she shook her head and her hair turned from soft purple to bubblegum pink.

"Vol- he," Harry corrected himself quickly as he met her cautious glance, "Luckily, he was really motivated not to hurt me."

"And how did you accomplish such a remarkable feat?" she asked, incredulous.

Harry rubbed his eyes under the glasses and sighed.

"He's probably the most self-centered person in the universe. Therefore, he had this - reluctance - to hurt someone who looked just like him."

Tonks exchanged a quizzical look with Lupin before she gave Harry a doubtful smile.

"Well … Harry, I hope you won't be too disappointed when I say that I see no resemblance."

"Harry took Polyjuice Potion," Hermione said quietly. It was the first time she had spoken since their reunion and she seemed a bit pale and her voice was a bit off. Harry was strongly reminded of the moment when she sat by Ron's sickbed after she learned he was inadvertently poisoned by Slughorn's mead.

"And then he looked truly hideous. Exactly like him, trust me," Ron gestured wildly and shuddered. "Sorry, mate, but it's true."

"It was an odd experience," Harry said distractedly. His scar began to prickle uncomfortably and he was trying in vain to suppress it. "Not entirely bad, I suppose, for it saved my life at least once and provided some really convenient information about how vastly advanced all his senses are, but still…"

"…horrible in the end," Ron finished for him.

"You … you seriously polyjuiced yourself to look like You-Know-Who?-!" Tonks gasped. "How did you – I mean, where could you possibly obtain a piece of him?"

"We had a - wrestle - in Malfoy Manor quite recently. And I got his fingernail," Harry shrugged. "Not much to start with, but it worked."

"The best part of it was when Harry punched his balls straight into his brain!" Ron said excitedly. "I wish you all could see it! He went down the same way as if he were AKed right between the eyes!"

The following deaf silence said it all, in Harry's opinion.

"You did – _what?-!_ "

Tonks apparently refused to believe her ears.

"Nothing - absolutely nothing." Harry refused to spare a single thought to the only moment when he was allowed – well, _not_ allowed – to touch Lord Voldemort's privates. He'd better not give himself a reason to think about it.

"I remember Ron talking about it back at Bill and Fleur's. So, he was not exaggerating after all... Anyway, Harry, stealing You-Know-Who's identity was a very reckless idea," Lupin said while watching him intently. "I believed you're clever enough to know that attacking such a dark wizard without a proper plan and a contingent of Aurors in your back equals a suicide!"

"It's not like I had another option! By the way, I'm a bit surprised that you don't know about it already."

"We know almost nothing," Lupin sighed and turned to Harry's best friends. "Ron and Hermione were very close-lipped about everything concerning you and the Hufflepuff's cup. We don't even know why you needed to steal it in the first place. Hermione only said that Dumbledore entrusted you with a certain secret..."

A warm hand suddenly touched Harry's healthy shoulder.

"Harry."

Harry's breath died in his throat at the sound of the familiar voice. Lupin disappeared into blur as a sea of red hair filled Harry's vision and a pair of cool lips touched his face.

"Ginny...," he croaked out, completely unprepared to meet her.

She was as beautiful as ever, he realized as he sucked in a dose of fresh air filled with her scent. It only made him feel dirty and blemished beside her perfection. He needed to get rid of that grime that got stuck under his skin, but something was telling him that no matter how long, hot or steamy his bath would be, he could never remove that stain from himself. And even smaller part of him argued if he really wanted to. He was an erring man after all and not some faultless hero. If she could accept his flaws, then he would know … he would be absolutely sure that she was the one...

He looked into her eyes, wondering who she saw. The Boy-Who-Lived or Harry Potter?

"Ginny," he repeated softly.

Her smile was striking. Amazed, he entwined his fingers in her long red hair and pulled her closer. Red like flames … like the fire in his eyes...

Another throb in his scar made him grit his teeth.

How could he deceive her with him willingly? How could he enjoy it even for a second, how could he ask for more when this lovely girl was waiting for him here? Maybe his uncle was right when he told him that he was a horrible freak.

He let her kiss him, but could not return the favour properly. He pulled back rather fast and looked around to mask his tremor. Everyone else headed further inside the house, giving them as much privacy as they could.

"So…, he cleared his throat when they were alone, "this is the Order's new hideout, right?"

"We had to leave the Burrow," she whispered, taking his hand into hers and leading him down the hall after the others, "and move to Aunt Muriel."

"What are you saying?-!" Harry exploded instantly, making everyone ahead turn back to them.

"Didn't Ron and Hermione tell you that the Death Eaters are monitoring this place?-!"

"Even if they are, we..."

Harry did not hear the rest because a sudden, searing pain shot through his lightning scar. He felt Voldemort's anger and fear rising and spiking inside him like a tsunami. The images of the golden cup bleeding a dark, tarry liquid from a deep crack over the badger flashed behind his closed eyelids. For a few seconds he was lost in that blinding sea of rage, but eventually he began to resist that invasion and regained control over his mind. He needed to know the answer to his question first; it was a matter of existential importance.

"What did you say?" he asked breathlessly, leaning against the wall and rubbing his searing forehead wildly.

"Harry - are you all right?" Ginny asked, noticing his sudden indisposition.

"I am fine - just tell me … tell me why you stayed here."

"Ron and Hermione informed us, of course," Kingsley, who in the meantime returned to them, replied. "But since the Death Eaters cannot lay a hand on our Secret-Keeper, it is still the safest place to hide. Besides, Hermione mentioned that the Death Eaters were ordered not to attack us," he added with a small smile. "We didn't know what she meant until now. It was your order, right?"

"But that can be changed by Volde-"

"Harry!" Ginny gasped, but Harry blatantly continued.

"-mort's single decision. Apropos, stop worrying about the Taboo. He removed it."

"How do you know?" Lupin, who still waited for them at the end of the hall, asked firmly.

With the burning pain still wrecking his brain, Harry had no energy left to explain it.

"I just do, trust me."

The scarred face of Harry's ex-teacher reflected deep worries and even Kingsley's expression wasn't much calmer. They motioned him to follow them.

"So, you were in contact with the Death Eaters?" Lupin finally asked as they entered a large, dark and dusty sitting room.

"Mostly Snape," Harry said, his head spinning from the constant throbbing of his scar.

"Harry," Kingsley said slowly after taking a seat in one of the large armchairs. "I understand that you probably don't want to talk about it right now, but we need to know what exactly they did to you. I didn't want to ask you that when you were under the Veritaserum with everyone listening but … did they place an Imperius Curse upon you? I guess someone had to do that, otherwise why would you - I'm sorry for the choice of my words – _warn_ You-Know-Who and _protect_ him from harm?"

Harry heard Ginny's surprised gasp and felt how she briskly removed her hand from his.

The sudden chill on his fingers was nothing compared to the stiff silence which filled that dim place. Everyone was there, watching him intently. He could see Tonks cradling little sleeping Teddy in her arms, Arthur dragging his feet and pulling at his beige, thick, hand-knitted sweater, Fred and George's curious, inspecting gazes, Bill with his arm wrapped around his tired wife, Aunt Muriel standing at the top of the stairs, rapping her fingers against the banisters and Ron and Hermione sitting at the very bottom of that staircase, holding their hands. He met their eyes, feeling that the world was expanding around him. Or maybe he was shrinking; he wouldn't be able to tell the difference...

Of course they noticed. How could he think, hope even for a second, that they would not…

A new surge of guilt followed another piercing prickle in his scar. He rubbed it mindlessly, searching for the right words.

"He betrayed us," Muriel snorted loudly, watching him over the smoke of her pipe. "Like everyone else would have after a few hours under the Cruciatus Curse."

"For one last time I did not!" Harry cried out, scratching his scar furiously now. A little longer and it would start bleeding.

"I wasn't under the Imperius Curse. I did it to protect you," he snapped before turning on his heel to face Kingsley. "You bewitched the cup somehow, right?"

"Yes," Bill responded with a curt nod. "I did it. I've been studying Egyptian curses for many years now. I also learned a lot when I worked as a curse breaker for Gringotts. There are many curses which are tremendously cruel, dangerous and essentially unbreakable, not only the famous Unforgivables. I must admit that the one that I used was … particularly nasty. Please, believe me that I felt really bad about performing that really dark and awful magic, but as you can imagine, most of us believed that you're dead and that all You-Know-Who wanted was to deceive us and murder us. That object was meant to be our one last chance."

"Only he wouldn't have died even if he touched it," Harry returned with a sigh. "His body can be destroyed, true, but that's all. He would survive it like the last time. Nevertheless, if the Death Eaters saw it happen, if he collapsed before them, they would throw a fit. None of us would survive the massacre. We would be all dead by now."

"And why do you think the Death Eaters were holding back on us, Harry?"

"We are all here, aren't we? Everyone survived, right? So either all the Death Eaters forgot how to use the Killing Curses properly, or he told them to hold back on us – in order to protect the cup." Harry said firmly.

"I rrreally don't get it," Fleur shook her head, her long blond hair spilling around her face like a halo. "Why eez that cup so imporrrtant? Ron and Herrrmione never explained to us why You-Know-Who was so eagerrr to exchange it forrr you."

Harry looked at his friends a nodded a little.

"They couldn't tell you because they are following Dumbledore's orders. And so am I."

"Still the same Dumbledore's orders?" Molly breathed in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Maybe it's time you finally told us what he wanted from you."

"It's my mission," Harry said tiredly. "And I have Ron and Hermione's help. Dumbledore thought that it should be enough."

A mission which was already doomed to be a failure, he thought gloomily. Any attempt to destroy the remaining Horcruxes would be a suicide mission since they were all now under Voldemort's constant protection. He was the only one who could still hypothetically succeed since Riddle no longer wanted him dead, but he found it immensely difficult to even imagine himself killing Voldemort after he … after they…

Touched…

Kissed…

No, Voldemort did not kiss him, not even once. His lips only grazed his forehead one time in an invitation for his other half to return … home.

That invitation remained ostentatiously ignored.

Harry felt shivery; his scar was still aching, he felt almost feverish.

His friends, on the opposite, looked relieved as if he just gave them a new hope. He did not have a heart to take it away just yet.

"I need to know more about that curse, Bill," Harry said when he composed himself a bit. "What does it do? I saw Bellatrix touch the cup and she … she immediately disappeared."

Bill appeared to be very self-conscious at that point. He looked at his wife a couple of times and bit his lip hesitantly before finally meeting Harry's eyes briefly.

"I must repeat that what I did doesn't make me proud," he said and Harry nodded in confirmation.

"It's all right."

"Basically, that curse sucks out your magic and locks it inside the object upon which the curse had been placed. It's a closed cycle during which the curse becomes stronger and more potent. It may take some time before it kills you, but it is inevitable in the end. Really dreadful stuff..."

"So it draws out your soul?" Harry gasped, exchanging quick glances with Ron and Hermione.

"No, of course not. Nothing can draw out your soul, Harry – except for a Dementor's kiss," Lupin said quietly, but Harry looked back at his friends, since they all knew better about how far the soul magic could go.

"How long does it take for that curse to, you know, drain someone to death?" Harry asked, feeling some dark premonition rise inside him. His head was still spinning from the constant headache and the flashing images which entered his mind whenever he closed his eyes. From what he saw and felt Harry presumed that the curse somehow affected Helga's cup in the end. He could tell so much, because Voldemort was beyond furious now.

What could possibly happen when such a horrible dark curse met an equally ugly one which was already placed upon that cup?

"Hours, maybe even days," Bill told him quietly. "No one really knows for sure, but it presumably depends on the wizard's or witch's stamina."

Harry stopped listening to him for his head was swarmed by questions which popped one after another. Could this curse kill the piece of Voldemort's soul inside the cup? If yes, his friends broke the treaty and Voldemort would surely take revenge upon them. And even if not, he still lost Bellatrix - one of his best followers. Harry found himself dreading the consequences.

"I believe that's enough," Molly interrupted them vigorously. "You're talking and talking while all Harry needs is rest, medicine and some substantial dinner. And the rest of you as well!" she added, raising her voice as she looked over the room.

Harry was then led by her to the dining room, where he ate the meal rather mechanically. He felt that Ron and Hermione were watching him and he understood their silent curiosity. They wanted to know everything what happened, but he was not sure if he could tell them. On the other hand, he could not solve this puzzle without their help...

Ginny sat back next to him, but Harry barely registered her. He was hoping to get to the bed soon and sleep for ages. A shower or a bath first would also be nice. Just not to think about anything for a couple of hours…

It was when he felt his shirt slide down his left shoulder that he realized her surreptitious way of undressing him.

"G-Ginny?" he stuttered out, suddenly awake from his stupor. The dining room was almost empty if he didn't count his best friends who looked at each other before smiling knowingly. Harry looked back at Ginny, his eyes wide in surprise.

"You were bleeding," she said matter-of-factly and started applying a thick amount of healing salve on his sore.

"Um, thanks, but I really..."

She silenced him with her intent gaze. Right, there was no point in arguing about this, Harry agreed. He closed his eyes and let her warm, nimble fingers dance on his skin while he waited nervously for his body to respond to it.

Curiously enough, it did not. His manly pride remained mostly uninterested during whole the procedure. Eventually, he ascribed this apparent malfunction to his ultimate physical and mental exhaustion.

"Whose shirt is this?" she asked a moment later, pulling the fabric down a little more. "It doesn't fit you very well."

"Rather don't ask," he muttered under his breath.

That comment stirred curiosity of everyone in the earshot.

"It's really not yours?" Ron asked immediately, his eyes growing big as saucers.

"Of course it's not, Ron," Hermione admonished him. "Don't you remember what Harry wore last time we saw him?"

"Oh, right," Ron muttered. "How could I possibly forget?"

"It's Malfoy's," Harry eventually admitted with a sigh.

"LUCIUS MALFOY'S?"

"No, not that Malfoy, Ron! It's Draco's. Narcissa gave it to me on Riddle's orders."

"Well," Ron harrumphed, trying to keep his face even. "How thoughtful. Draco must have been thrilled."

His lips twitched a little.

"Imagine his dear mom telling him that You-Know-Who decided that his twenty galleon attire falls into property of Harry Potter…"

Hermione chuckled, keeping her fingers pressed to her lips. Ron sniggered as well, but quickly caught himself. And then, Harry did not even know who started it, they all laughed openly until they could barely breathe.

It was Ginny, whose mirth ran out first and her face hardened almost instantly.

"What's wrong, Ginny?" Harry asked lightly, although a hint of worries seeped into his voice.

She said nothing, only raised her hand and grazed the newly bared skin between his shoulder blades. Harry naturally could not see what she saw, but he felt that the place was rather sensitive to a touch.

"Fingernails," she said in an empty voice. "I can see their marks all over your back."

The scar on his forehead prickled lightly again as if in response to the copious amount of blood rushing into his face.

Harry licked his dry lips quickly.

"Really?" he said lightly though his own voice sounded false to him. "That's … that must be from the battle," he lied, his heart sinking. "I had a very unpleasant encounter with Bellatrix."

"Very unpleasant," she repeated and got up, leaving the dining room without another word.

Harry stared after her for a while and then he looked back at the empty bowl in front of him. He would not mind to slam his head against it right then and shatter it in half. If he broke his head as well, it would only serve him right.

"Excuse me," he muttered, avoiding Ron's and Hermione's gazes, and set out to follow Ginny to the upper floor. He stopped on the first step, though, suddenly losing his motivation.

He was not a fool to think that more lies would make him or her feel any better.

But he just could not leave it like this...

"Harry?"

He turned around to face Ron, frowning.

"I must explain to her that ... that I…"

"Nah, not now, mate. Let me show you to our room. Leave everything for tomorrow, okay? I'm sure Ginny will understand."

"But..."

"No buts."

"I need to talk to you too. Both of you," he added and turned to Hermione. "It's important."

"And it cannot wait till the morning I suppose," Hermione whispered.

Harry shook his head.

"Okay," Ron said under his breath. "You're the boss. I only hope my mother won't see us."

They sneaked quickly and quietly to the upper floor and then locked in Ron's tiny bedroom which was temporarily equipped with a smaller, additional bed. Ron quickly took a seat on it as if to give Harry some notion of comfort by surrendering his old bed to his use. It was funny, since Harry was the last person to care about such a thing.

He made no comment though, except of expressing his thanks. He had more pressing matters on his mind.

Hermione took a seat beside Ron and for the first time Harry really noticed how very close they sat to each other.

"Erm …," he cleared his throat, watching his friends attentively. "Maybe you would like to start with the news first," he suggested.

"Oh … are we really that obvious?" Hermione blushed and cast a quick glance at Ron.

Harry, contrary to how he felt, smiled a little.

"It comes as no surprise," he shrugged. "Congratulations, anyway. It took you some time, I must say."

"We're together only thanks to you, Harry," Ron muttered. "We thought that you're dead … and that everything's lost and … well it was a turning point for us all."

"I'm really glad for you – because if my capture didn't do it, I don't really know what I would do next. I was running out of ideas..."

Ron's uncomprehending stare was interrupted by Hermione's quiet giggle.

"You really must be fine, Harry," Ron said, when he got the point, "joking in this situation."

"Sometimes I surprise myself."

"But that's not what you wanted to tell us, is it?"

Harry's compelled joviality flattened like a punctured tire.

"No…," he breathed out.

When he did not say anything for a while, Hermione nervously budged up.

"You wanted to talk about … You-Know-Who? Did you figure out what went wrong with that Polyjuice Potion?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "I have an idea and I'm positive that it wasn't your fault, Hermione. There's, however, a lot of other things that you need to know first. For example, Voldemort's reclaimed his last Horcrux. It was in Hogwarts. I knew it. I knew it all the time!"

"In Hogwarts?" Hermione gasped. "I can't believe he'd really been hiding a Horcrux right under Dumbledore's nose!"

"He was convinced that not a living soul knew about his secret, remember? He also believed that no one else knew Hogwarts as well as he did. I bet that was the reason why he hid Rowena's 'lost' diadem in the Room of Requirement. He placed it on a dusty old wig – ironically, the very same wig under which was a cupboard where I hid Snape's old potion book."

His friends appeared to be scalded by the news.

"If this is another joke, I'm not laughing," Ron said solemnly after a while.

"I wish."

"That's a … disaster," Hermione admitted hollowly a moment later. "We were so close and now…"

"Don't even remind me that," Harry gritted his teeth.

"Do you have any idea where is he hiding those items now?"

"I'm sure he keeps them as close as possible, which means they must be somewhere in Malfoy Manor."

"No, no way we are coming back there!" Ron said resolutely and got up. "Especially not now when he's waiting for us! Moreover, we don't even have the sword anymore! We've got nothing!"

"Look, I don't want you to tell me your suggestions now," Harry shook his head. "I told you that because I want you to think about it. Riddle's got all the remaining Horcruxes under his protection. We cannot follow the old plan. We have to make a new one or fail horribly," he finished heavily.

"Okay," Hermione nodded slowly. "I'll consider our options. But … it seems to me that there's still something else on your mind, right Harry?"

"Yes," Harry breathed. "Quite a lot. Voldemort's an Animagus, for instance."

Ron winced at the name, looking around as if expecting to see that tall, dark figure standing behind him.

"Calm down, Ron. I already told you that his name is no longer a Taboo."

"He could put it back on. Please, Harry, don't say it."

Harry nodded jerkily, trying hard to resist the absurdity of the situation. Apparently, he could have sex with the Dark Lord, yet he still could not say his name. On the other hand, his thoughtlessness drove him and his friends to the mortal danger more than once. There was no reason to repeat it again.

"So, You-Know-Who's an Animagus," Ron mulled it over aloud and sat down again, seemingly mollified. "Not a big surprise considering what a sneaky wizard he is. What form does he take on?"

"You can guess twice."

"A snake," Hermione said without thinking.

"Definitely an unregistered one," Ron filled instantly.

"Got it at once."

"That's really useful information for the Order, Harry," Hermione said appreciatively.

"Well, I wouldn't say so."

When he met their questioning gaze, Harry had to wonder how to explain what he wanted to explain … without getting some hysterical reactions – especially on Ron's side.

"He … I'm sure he doesn't use that form very often."

"Err … any idea why?"

Ron's eyes were widely dilated, eager to learn more. Hermione, on the other hand, looked rather contemplative.

"Basically," Harry tried to speak as fluently as he could, but since he was getting to the critical point, it became more and more difficult. "It's because of … his snake. Nagini."

"Err …You lost me, Harry," Ron muttered, scratching his head. "Any reason why? Does his snake attack him … or something?"

Harry tried his hardest not to blush.

"Yeah … you could put it that way."

"All right," Ron nodded. "That's all very interesting … but how is that any important to us? Furthermore, how come you know about it?"

Harry watched him nervously, silently hoping that if he figured it out by himself, maybe it would not be such a shock for him. But that was just a speculation.

"I know it because … I … I turned into that snake."

"AGAIN?" Ron sputtered out.

"Quiet, Ron!" Hermione shushed him instantly.

"No, not Nagini. It wasn't like the last time when I only had a vision and you woke me up," Harry said, rubbing circles into his temples. "This time I turned into a snake for real. It actually saved me from a certain death."

Ron and Hermione stared at him, speechless.

"Look, I'm pretty sure that I'm not an Animagus. So it had to be him," he concluded, his eyes nervously meeting Ron's and Hermione's in turns.

"There must be some other logical explanation which does not involve You-Know-Who…," Ron began shakily but Harry shook his head.

"No. I tried it later on again … and it worked. I'm afraid it could possibly work even now, if I was willing to try – which I'm not."

"And you are absolutely sure that you weren't dreaming," Hermione spoke calmly, straightening her spine a little.

"Positive."

"And you did it repeatedly and you believe it's his doing."

"Yeah … kind of … yeah."

"Do you know what it means Harry?-!" she said, aghast now. "He possesses you!"

In that second Harry could swear he heard a surprised gasp at the doorstep. He hurried over, opened the door, but saw no one. He closed it again then, turned back to his friends who looked completely terrified, and sank back into the cushions on his bed. In that moment he doubted his decision. How would they handle the truth which is even worse than that? But he went too far, he had to finish what he started…

"No," he said. "He possessed me two years ago, remember? I believe that in that moment he felt even worse pain than I did. It was unbearable."

"Then … how can he control you? What exactly did he do to you, Harry?"

For some reason, the way she worded her question made Harry vividly recall the white, long-fingered hand sliding down his bare chest before winding around him and burying its long fingernails into his sweaty back.

He shuddered.

"He's not controlling me, Hermione. The night when I was just a baby he came to my parents' house to kill me," he began quietly, "and his Killing Curse backfired on him. It should send his soul straight into the afterlife, but since he could not die, the curse shattered his soul apart instead. As he fled, he unknowingly left a small piece of himself behind."

"Seriously?" Ron yelped, jumping up from the makeshift bed. "Where did he leave it?-! Do you know where it is?-!"

Harry slowly pointed his finger at his pink hurting scar.

"It's here. It's always been here … living with me."

For a moment Ron appeared as if he just suffered a heart attack. He scrambled backwards from Harry, groping his pockets for his wand while his mouth opened and closed helplessly like a fish thrown onto a dry land. Hermione, fortunately, astounded as she was, kept her wand in the pocket at least.

"He was with me when I asked your mother to show me the entrance to the platform nine and three-quarters," Harry spoke quietly to Ron. "He was with me when you joined me in that compartment and I bought us chocolate frogs. He was with me when I saved Ginny from the Basilisk or when I fought the Dementors. He was also there when I dueled him at the graveyard – and Vol…You-Know-Who did not suspect anything! He did not know who he was trying to kill; he doesn't feel his Horcruxes anymore! The only person who knew the truth was Dumbledore, but he decided to keep me in the dark - for my own good, I suppose. He probably thought I wouldn't be able to handle the truth, but I have to handle it. The question is, if you can handle it too."

Harry got up, slowly approaching his best friend, who still retreated from him, but lowered the wand which shook in his hand. "Look, he was with me, Ron, even when I saved your life after you drank Slughorn's poisoned mead. I'm still the same person. I'm Harry Potter. The only difference is that … that V… You-Know-Who knows the truth as well."

"And that's why he didn't kill you," Hermione concluded calmly, once again in her analytical mode. And Harry was really grateful for her ability to keep her strictly logical approach at any situation. Luckily, she always dealt with a crisis this way and her understanding and support felt even better than Ginny's healing salve.

_Ginny…_

"Yes," he said, watching her hopefully.

"That's good news actually," she said then.

"GOOD NEWS?-!" Ron cried, visibly shaking.

"Quiet Ron! Fortunately, I used the Muffiato Charm… Anyway, what I meant is that it confirms that Harry was not forced to betray the Order and neither is he used to spy on us in any way."

"Having a fucking piece of You-Know-Who's soul inside him is NOT a good way how to spy on us?-! Excellent thinking, Hermione!"

"He cannot see my mind, I told you!" Harry snapped back, reaching the limit of patience as well.

"Well, it could be that way before, but now that he KNOWS…"

It was ultimately surprising that Ron, who seemed to be only warming up, suddenly fell into a petrified silence.

"G… Gi?" he stuttered out helplessly. "What are you doing here?"

Harry spun around on his heel and his heart stopped.

Her beautiful face was like a wax, her bright brown eyes filled to the brim with tears and her hands helplessly opened and closed.

"Ginny!" Hermione jumped to her feet, more scared than in the moment when Harry told her that a part of Voldemort lived inside him. "How could you hear … you weren't listening, were you?"

She didn't respond. She still watched Harry, who was rendered speechless.

Finally, she seemed to find her lost voice. Her mouth curved into a grimace as she raised her accusatory finger at him.

"Y- YOU DISGUSTING FREAK!" she screamed and with a heart breaking cry she ran out of the opened door.


	11. Dumbledore's Secret Plan

xxxxx

A steel knife of horror twisted in Harry's windpipe as he watched his ex-girlfriend, an impersonation of an enraged tigress, storm away. He stood there, his world shaking in its foundations, and his befuddled mind could only replay the scene over and over like a broken gramophone record. Occasionally, a fuzzy memory of Aunt Petunia leaked into his vision; Harry saw her leaning over him again and yelling into his small, tear-filled face why she did not love him.

"Just look at yourself, you freak!" she shrieked, her lips curving disdainfully. "Who could possibly want to love someone like you? And don't ask stupid questions!"

The invisible knife sank deeper.

Harry choked; Ginny's name was lingering on his lips, but he lacked a breath to voice it.

He needed to grab something before his hands started to lacerate his chest.

"What the hell was that?"

A male voice broke into his thoughts, loud and agitated.

"A little too mean, wasn't she?"

Coming to realize that he was not alone and that someone was talking to him, Harry looked around at Ron, who stood next to him, scratching his cheek nervously.

"She overreacted," Harry's best friend went on his monologue. "Definitely overreacted. It's as simple as that. I heard her talk to Mum the other day. She still has nightmares about you-know-what after all these years."

"Yeah, while I don't," Harry cut him off derisively. The boulder in his throat, which had nearly suffocated him, crumbled apart and he could breathe freely again. However, righteous indignation which flooded him right after that rendered him temporarily speechless again.

"What I meant is that you're not the only one left with a scar," Ron said quickly and when Harry did not respond right away he turned to Hermione, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

"I must agree with Harry on this," she said grimly, obviously having a hard time coping with what she saw. "Ginny shouldn't have said such a thing, no matter what. It was really unfair of her, especially since Harry's done nothing wrong."

She smoothed out her clothes and took a resolute step forward. "I'll talk to her."

"Wait."

Harry raised the wand he wrestled from the Death Eater and used it to close the door.

"Wait," he repeated and turned to face them. "I was thinking … what if she's right? You say that I haven't done anything wrong, Hermione, but protecting You-Know-Who can hardly be counted as a good deed."

"You said that you had to do it," Ron pointed out ostentatiously. "You said that if you didn't do it, the Death Eaters would have killed us all."

"I'm not saying that the outcome was bad, Ron," Harry sighed. "If anything, it was convenient. But come on guys, do you really think I had time to make some ingenious predictions?"

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"What exactly are you trying to tell us, Harry?" she whispered.

"The fact is that I don't know why I did it, Hermione. That's the point-blank truth. I don't have the slightest idea why I acted so dumb! Why for him of all the people? It doesn't even make a sense!" Harry growled, tugging at his hair in frustration. "So maybe Ginny's right. Maybe she's the only one who understands that..."

"Understands what?"

"That I really am a freak who helped a MURDERER responsible for the DEATH of my parents!"

Harry sank onto the bed, clutching at his head.

Blood was pounding in his temples; he felt sick of everything and most of all of himself.

"Rubbish!" Ron thundered at him and knelt beside him. "That's all rubbish, can't you see? You screamed that warning, Harry, because that friggin' piece of his soul in you made you do it! It means that we just have to wipe it out of you somehow and … and you'll be perfectly fine again!"

Harry raised his head. He could see that blind conviction in Ron's face and in that moment he could not simply laugh at his naivety. Actually, he was deeply touched by Ron's resolve to help him. It seemed that Ginny's violent reaction had one good outcome after all. Although Ron was defending her, he once again treated Harry like a friend and not like an enemy. He seemed to forget his previous spite and Harry was immensely grateful for that.

Hermione, on the other hand, did not share Harry's relief.

"Oh, what an excellent idea, Ron! I bet you can also tell us how exactly you plan to 'wipe it out of Harry' without 'wiping out' Harry as well!" she fumed, stomping her foot. "Or have you discovered some miraculous, non-invasive method of destroying a Horcrux while keeping the - sorry, Harry - _container_ intact?-! That would be really handy since we don't have the sword anymore!"

"No, I did not!" Ron yelped back angrily, his face turning red. "But we've got to do something! We've got to figure it out somehow!"

"And that's the point, Ron!" Hermione hurled out, gesturing wildly. "There's nothing to figure out! We know our options! The 'object' must be destroyed beyond the magical repair and that's something I absolutely refuse to think about!"

"Then don't think about it!" Ron shouted.

"I do not! _Never ever!_ " she yelled and then turned to Harry with tears in her eyes. "We love you, Harry! We could never...!"

And then she ran to him and hugged him tight and Harry burrowed his face into her bushy hair, feeling his pain ebb away together with her tears.

"Thank you," he said quietly a moment later as he let her go. Then he cleared his throat, which was constricted with emotion. "You know what?" he said then. "We'll try to think of something in the morning, okay? I'm really tired now and I bet that you two feel the same."

"Yeah, you're right. Great idea," Ron nodded with relief and patted his shoulder. "I'll show you to the bathroom. Surely you want to use it first, right?"

xxxxx

Later that night, when Ron was already snoring contentedly and the house was dark and quiet, Harry still could not fall asleep. He could not stop thinking of Ginny and also of Voldemort and he became so agitated that he would not mind getting up and start pacing the bedroom. Instead, he just tossed and turned in his bed, his head pounding and his mind fuzzy and irrational. He was angry and traumatized and he was quite sure that it was not entirely his sensation. Hoping to find some distraction in it, Harry tried to look into Voldemort's head, but he could not pass the barrier. Voldemort raised his Occlumency shields to protect his mind from intrusion, but the fact that his emotions still leaked to Harry meant that for some reason it did not work as well as usual.

Disappointed, Harry forced himself to lay still and keep his eyes closed.

Just breathing in and out.

Feeling the luxury of safety, warmth and cleanness.

Ultimately, his weariness won the battle and Harry slowly sank into the world of dreams.

And he found himself back in Malfoy Manor and Ginny was there with him. She was talking to him again but she kept calling him Tom, although he tried to convince her that he was Harry. And then she turned into Bellatrix and ran away, laughing maniacally. Harry wanted to follow her, but realized that he could not move his legs - he did not have them anymore. His body slid to the floor, curling and twisting in its snake form and then he was falling down a dark tunnel into the Light...

Blinded at first, he found himself standing in a desert-like landscape surrounded by steep yellow cliffs, which appeared to almost reach the sky. Balancing on the wobbling stones overgrown with spiky grass and low bushes, dry and papery from the hot afternoon sun, Harry looked around, searching for something … someone...

And Voldemort was there too. Strangely, Harry knew that he would find him there, he knew what sight would be presented to his eyes and still it nearly broke him. Voldemort was lying in that dying grass, his trembling, bloodied hand up in the air, begging for help. His body was horribly damaged; his white skin and black robes were in shreds, bones shattered and his bright red blood pooled underneath that mess, seeping into the ardent dust and dripping down the scattered stones.

And his mouth moved, speaking to Harry...

And Harry screamed and screamed, but no sound left his mouth...

"Harry!"

He woke up with a jerk, bathing in sweat, his scar pulsing wildly and his stomach churning.

The sky behind the small window was light grey already, announcing the upcoming dawn.

Ron was gone. Instead, Ginny sat beside him on the bed.

Her hand was warm on his forearm.

Harry blinked a couple of times and quickly took the offered glasses.

He could not believe that she was really there. He had to be still dreaming.

"Ginny?" he asked, testing his ability to speak.

"You were having a nightmare," she said apologetically and slowly removed her hand from his. "I wasn't sure if you would be willing to talk to me ever again, but I had to give it a try."

Her eyes met his and Harry was not sure if they were resigned or hopeful.

"I'm deeply sorry for the yesterday, Harry. I did a horrible thing – said something inexcusable... But it wasn't meant for you - you know it, don't you? Tell me that you know it..."

Harry could not say it. Not yet. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and raised himself onto his elbows.

"Did Hermione talk to you?" he asked instead.

"No, she didn't," she said at once. "No one talked me into this. I couldn't sleep; I felt terrible for hurting you like that... I really don't know what possessed me; it was like I was back in that nightmare and in that moment it was so easy to disregard that you are stronger than me. That you can fight him where I couldn't. I forgot that."

"You know...," Harry said slowly, voicing the ache in his heart. "The sad part is that none of this had to happen. If you weren't listening to us, if you didn't break through Hermione's wards..."

Now she looked offended, wounded even.

"Yes, I know it is all my fault, but can you at least imagine how much it hurts me that you never invited me in? Do you know how many times I wondered why? Most of the time I could only ask myself if you really wanted me … if you ever considered me a part of your life."

The realization crashed upon Harry. He felt ashamed of himself for being as close-minded about her as he was about Snape. He remembered how truly furious he was when he was secluded, when things were kept secret from him... He hated it, so what made him think that she would be okay with it?

"I'll be of age in four months," she continued after a bitter pause. "I know that you would never openly ask for my help but I was hoping that if I learned everything by myself … you would not tell me to stay away from you."

It was so tempting; just as Ron and Hermione were together now, he would not have to spend the evenings alone, pondering only about his inevitable future... But could he do that to her? Could he?

"And I really wanted to help you with your mission; I wanted to fight by your side. That's why we worked so hard, Neville and I, to revive Dumbledore's Army. Exhausted and beaten we carried on … we wanted you to know that if you ever needed our help to destroy him, we would be there for you."

It was oddly touching to hear her say that. Harry always admired her for her fiery spirit. He almost said it aloud.

Slowly, he sat up fully, massaging his temples.

"I was inconsiderate," he admitted. "But I just wanted to protect you from a certain death. That was all that mattered to me."

"I can understand that," she said calmly. "But you never asked me what I wanted."

"I know I did not... I made a mistake. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I make mistakes too," she said and her eyes turned to the persistent nail marks on his bare shoulders.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but she stopped him by raising her hand.

"Don't explain, Harry. You don't have to and I know that you don't even want to. There are some things that simply happen and you don't even know why. I went through the same since I...," she hesitated, losing her composure for the first time.

"I kissed Neville," she finally said, her voice trembling a little. "I didn't want to tell you that since I was certain that it was just a one time thing … but, in the end, I can't keep it a secret. It happened two months ago. The Carrows were chasing me because I hexed Crabbe for torturing one of the first-years. They were really furious, casting Unforgivables after me; I'm sure that they would have killed me if they caught me... But then Neville stepped in. They tortured him senseless and he withstood it bravely instead of telling them where I was hiding. And so I kissed him … to thank him … to make the pain go away."

Harry felt as if all his thoughts were drained away from his head, leaving it completely empty. When she paused, awaiting his reaction, Harry could not respond. His mind was blank.

"And the worst thing is that it didn't feel like a mistake," she added quietly. "I am not proud of what I did – but I can't make myself regret it."

It didn't hurt that much. That was the most shocking revelation to Harry. He thought that he would suffer again, he thought that he would be mad at her and Neville – or sad at least, but he could not bring himself to feel any of it. Something had to be seriously wrong with him. Could it be that his love life was so insignificant to him compared to that impossible task ahead?

Or had their romance died out sometime in the recent past without any of them noticing it?

She wouldn't have kissed Neville if she was still deeply in love with him … and he would have never wanted to do certain things to a certain dark wizard...

Harry shook his head wildly. He refused to think about that.

"Do you love him?" he asked her calmly and noticed her surprise at the even tone of his voice.

"No!" she said quickly, but then she sighed. "Well, not like you at least. Although, I was happy when he was around."

"All right," Harry said and got up stiffly.

"All right? Is that all you're going to say?" she asked, her voice quaking with disbelief.

"And what do you want me to say, Ginny? Do you want me to fret about it? Scream at you? Yell some insults? Oh, please, I'm barely of age and you're not quite there yet! It's not like we promised each other a life-long commitment! And … and I'm supposed to die anyway, so what does it matter?"

"What are you talking about?" she cried out. "You're not going to die – I will not allow it! The Order will not allow it! So what if You-Know-Who's possessing you – it doesn't change a thing! Kingsley said that Dumbledore warned him that something like that may happen! He said that no matter what you discover about Harry, don't forget that he's the best hope we have! He said that we must never stop trusting you!"

"You told Kingsley about what you heard?" Harry whispered, shaken.

"Of course I did!" she exclaimed, rising to her feet. "How could I not when everyone's life - _my whole family_ \- was in danger... You have no idea how ashamed I felt when he gave me that answer... I doubted you where he did not. I … I failed you."

"You did not fail me, Ginny," he said resolutely. "On the other hand, I appreciate your sincerity."

An embarrassed silence spread between them for a while. Harry secretly envied her the ability to talk about her dark secrets with him, especially since he could not repay the favour.

"So," she suddenly broke the tenseness, appearing to be perfectly composed again. "What now?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know. I think, though, that it's a perfect time to say some cliché, such as 'can we stay friends from now on' or something like that..."

"So, am I supposed to befriend You-Know-Who again?" she asked curiously.

Harry recoiled from her instantly, studying her face for any sign of enmity. He relaxed when he saw a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Not him, just his conscience," he smirked back.

"And here I thought he doesn't have one."

"Oh, I'm sure he does, but don't worry; he forgot how to use it decades ago. I believe it's safe to say that he won't learn to use it any time soon again."

"Sounds good," she said and her smile grew a little wider.

"Yeah," Harry breathed nervously, realizing how pretty she was in the soft morning light. However, the fact that he could find him attractive as well diminished this infatuation to a mere sexual frustration. Apparently, he could, under certain circumstances, have sex with almost anything that walked and talked. That was certainly something he did not want anyone to know, even though it could be relatively normal for boys his age. It seemed that love's got nothing to do with it; he loved people, he loved Ginny too, he loved his friends, but his love was pure, innocent and selfless feeling which was not tainted with obsessive lust and heart-wrenching desire to be by his soul mate's side. It was not the Love with the big L which could come only once in a lifetime and sometimes not at all. It was almost soothing to realize that he was not giving up something special and unique...

"Well," she said, bringing him out of the muse. "If you would like to have a breakfast, we should hurry down to the kitchen before Ron eats all of the yesterday's apple pie by himself."

"Okay," Harry smiled. "I'll be there. Just give me a minute."

"Sure," she nodded and ran down the stairs, her long red hair fluttering behind her.

And Harry sat back on the bed, staring at the door frame as if it held all the answers in the universe.

"Love," he muttered distractedly as he slowly started to dress himself. "That's what Dumbledore used to talk about. Love."

He looked at his hands and then at the small window. "The power the Dark Lord knows not is hardly a sword soaked in Basilisk's venom... Damn! Dumbledore had told me once what it was but I didn't know what to think about it back then."

He came over to the window, staring at the peaceful, misty scenery outside. It didn't calm his suddenly feverish brain.

"I was too young to consider what it meant and he knew it."

Then a horrible, stifling feeling twisted in his chest.

What if Dumbledore had left him with a decision to make and he unknowingly chose the wrong path?

Destroy the Horcruxes … he adopted the thought instantly, confident that he had Dumbledore's full support. And he probably did have it since the Headmaster did not hesitate to destroy Horcruxes himself. Yet, he did not train him in duelling, he did not tell him how to erase those cursed objects from existence... He did not spill a word about it regardless the fact that such knowledge was essential on Harry's bloody quest.

All Albus Dumbledore had ever shared with him were memories of Tom Riddle. Harry used to think it was important because he needed to be able to deduce what the Horcruxes were and where they were hidden, but it didn't make much sense any more. Dumbledore could simply tell him what to look for, except for that one piece which he failed to disclose in time. The knowledge of Voldemort's personality would be beneficial here if Harry did not have an open access to Voldemort's mind. And Dumbledore knew all about that; he knew about that piece of Voldemort's soul in him – so he surely anticipated that sooner or later Harry would be able to retrieve that information without much effort on his side.

Dumbledore's actions seemed illogical to Harry now, unless his mentor had something else on his mind. A secret plan which Harry failed to discern for months, years even.

A plan Dumbledore could not tell him directly without making him scream and throw things at him like he did at the end of his fifth year – or worse, without making him slam the door in his face after telling him that he was done with his crap for good.

Harry forced himself to breathe and then braced his heated forehead against the cold glass.

He recalled probably the most suggestive memory of Lord Voldemort coming to ask Dumbledore for a DADA post. There was no way that someone like Dumbledore would possibly miss a hidden intention behind Riddle's visit, especially since he knew that Voldemort never expected to get the job.

If Dumbledore had known all of that, why did he not act upon it? Why did he bother to learn all about Voldemort's Death Eaters sitting at Hog's Head, awaiting Riddle's return, yet apparently had no interest about which places Voldemort decided to visit once he was inside the castle? Why did he not send a spy after him – Peeves or Nearly Headless Nick would gladly rise to the occasion – to know what exactly Voldemort wanted to achieve by coming back to Hogwarts? All in all, it almost seemed as if Dumbledore did not care that much about Voldemort's secrets. It appeared that he wanted to show Harry something else...

Harry vividly recollected the last scene of the memory, where Dumbledore was speaking to Voldemort with a great sadness in his voice. He sounded like someone who wanted to help but failed miserably...

"I can't believe it," Harry whispered shakily. "What is it that you really wanted me to do, Dumbledore?"

He imagined Dumbledore, sitting across from him, smiling knowingly.

"Kill him … or not? You knew I had no chance against him, didn't you?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes would twinkle a little. He would not say anything; he would wait for Harry to figure the answer by himself.

"And even if I had, I can't imagine you wanting me to kill, to tear my soul apart like he did... Or am I wrong?"

The window with Dumbledore's nonexistent reflection mercifully decided to keep its opinion to itself.

"God, it's Voldemort I'm talking about here! He's completely insane! He killed my parents … hundreds of others … destroys everything he touches! And yet...! And yet he feels so much fear that it's driving me crazy and he suffers from it like every other man... Isn't that the most human quality? Isn't it what defines the life in general? Feeling pain? Fearing death?"

Quick steps were hurrying upstairs. Someone was coming, but Harry was not ready to face anyone just yet.

He curled his fingers into a tight fist and slammed it against the window-pane, which shook vehemently under that impact. Harry had wanted Voldemort dead. He had wanted to be the one to kill him. But something has changed; he was given an opportunity to look at the world through his enemy's eyes and his fierce determination dwindled a bit. It was a cruel world; a dead world of no friendship or attachment... He understood Voldemort better now; Riddle did not kill people because he found enjoyment in it; he killed them because he did not care about them.

And how could he possibly care when no one ever showed him what it means? When Harry was a little boy, he decided to fight his loneliness and find great friends, but he could understand why it was too late for Tom Riddle.

And it was the Wizarding world that should be blamed for that. Ironically, the very same society expected now that Harry, another abused orphan, would save them from the fruit of their own disinterest... A society that had centuries to learn how to take care of their lost and abandoned children, yet never tried to do anything for them aside punishing those who already suffered.

And that was Voldemort.

A true mirror to the Wizarding world's deformed face...

Harry hit the window again, angrier than before.

And then he did it again.

"Don't break it - you'll hurt yourself," Hermione's voice admonished him softly, pulling him out of his misery.

"Harry, what's taking you so long? The breakfast's ready for ages!"

Ron's excited voice scraped like a quartz at Harry's tense nerves.

"Would you stop thinking of food for a second, Ron?" Hermione said assertively, sensing Harry's tense mood. Then she turned to Harry and spoke more softly.

"How it went, Harry? Ron told me that Ginny came to see you."

"Fine," Harry said, calm again. "It went fine. We broke up."

Ron made a strange noise at the back of his throat.

"And you call that _fine?_ "

"We both agreed to it, so yes, it's fine. Besides, I have a feeling that she wouldn't mind to be seeing someone else."

"What?" Hermione gasped, astonished. "Who?"

"Neville," Harry shrugged, as he turned around.

" _Neville?_ " Ron and Hermione yelped in unison.

"Why is it so surprising?"

"Because it's _Neville_ ," Ron said as if it explained everything.

Harry honestly didn't get their reaction; he saw Neville in a different light now that he knew that Longbottom could easily be the 'Chosen One' instead of him. Neville had a huge potential to impress.

"He just...," Ron stammered. "He doesn't seem to be her type."

"He's a nice guy," Harry shrugged again.

"Harry, are you sure you're fine with that?" Hermione asked and he found himself nodding. Strangely, the more he thought about it, the less it bothered him. Now that his mind was overflowing with the new realizations he made, parting his ways with Ginny seemed almost inconsequential.

"Good!" Ron said enthusiastically. "Can we have that breakfast now?"

Apparently, his sister forbade him to eat anything until Harry joined them. Hermione hit Ron over the head with the latest issue of the Daily Prophet she carried around and Ron moaned exaggeratedly all the way downstairs, complaining about his sadistic girlfriend.

Once there, Harry soon realized that Ron's worries about the lack of food were completely unjustified. Molly and Fleur were already up, preparing sandwiches and bacon with scrambled eggs in a surprisingly peaceful cooperation. Harry took a piece of Molly's awesome apple pie from Ginny and gave her thanks and a smile, knowing that his friends were watching them all the time.

"Are you sure you broke up with her?" Ron asked him later when they sat by the table and sipped the tea.

"Positive," Harry replied.

"Does it mean that it's only me who makes girls so hysterical about it?"

"No," Harry snorted. "Ginny's cool about many things. And maybe she's really moved on."

"And what about you?" Hermione asked as she took a seat beside him. "Did you move on as well?"

"I'm not sure...," Harry muttered.

"Does those nail marks on your back have something to do with your doubts, Harry?" she asked meaningfully.

Harry quickly took another sip of the tea and coughed to mask his embarrassment.

"Does You-Know-Who even have teenage women in his army? I mean, anyone younger than Narcissa?" Ron whispered.

"Narcissa is not a Death Eater," Hermione said resolutely. "Not officially at least. I don't think she has the Dark Mark."

Harry refused to remove his lips from the edge of the cup from which he pretended to be drinking.

"But it's not Bellatrix's doing, is it?" Ron suddenly whispered in a terrified voice. "Harry, please, tell me that it's not!"

The cup rattled formidably against the saucer.

"No, it's not," Harry said curtly, staring at the tea he spilled.

"Oh, what a relief," Ron sighed and Harry could not help but imagine how his friend would react if he knew whose doing it really was.

He could not get that thought out of his head. It was suddenly all back; the cold, soft skin sliding against his own, the thin, long-fingered, chilly hand stroking him there and then that voice reluctantly whispering his name...

It made his scar twitch. Rather violently so. And not just his scar.

He got up fast – and sank back into his seat.

His scar began to throb wildly and his head was spinning. He pressed his hand against it and leaned forward before finally surging back to his feet.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked quickly, but he could not answer right away.

"I … I don't know," he finally gasped out. "My head..."

He let go of the table which supported him and stumbled into the entrance hall. Bill stepped out of his way, watching him confusedly while Lupin rushed to help him.

But Harry just blandly stared at the solid walnut door in front of him, trying to block the pain fogging his mind.

"Harrry," Fleur spoke to him gently, her voice seemingly coming from afar, "You should go lie down..."

And then the pain peaked and Harry momentarily forgot where he stood – and for a tiny split of a second he saw the very same door from the other side.


	12. Mind over matter

xxxxx

"Harry?"

Hermione's warm hand hesitantly touched his wrist.

"What is it? What did you see?"

Her soft, insistent voice penetrated Harry's torpor. He slowly breathed out and it sounded as if someone was strangling him.

"Harry?"

If he screamed a warning now, he would only cause a general panic and alert Voldemort that he knew about him already. Harry had no idea how Voldemort managed to find them, nevertheless, if the man wanted to attack them, he would have done it already. Coming to a decision, Harry swallowed a cry that bubbled in his throat.

"I'm fine," he lied, rubbing his burning scar furiously. "I just need some fresh air."

"Are you sure?"

Harry felt as if his head became transparent under Hermione's scrutinizing gaze. She would make an ominous Legilimens, if she wanted to.

"Yeah," he breathed out forcefully.

"All right then. Just don't go far away."

Harry nodded stiffly and approached the door. The bronze handle was icy in his hand. He waited, unnerved, until everyone returned to the sitting room and only then he pulled out his wand and pushed the door open.

He stepped forward, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs. A notion that he could die any moment, any second, made him sick to his stomach. Voldemort could have easily changed his mind about wanting him alive and according to the anger that tugged at his end of their mental link, Harry would not be surprised if he did.

A chilly morning breeze fanned his face and slipped under his shirt. Harry shuddered and pulled the collar higher to his neck while raising his wand a little; he loitered at the entrance until the door closed behind him with a quiet click.

"I know you're here," he whispered then, surveying the garden.

No one answered him.

Everything was quiet and peaceful, showing no sign of an intruder's presence.

Harry stepped down from the small porch and took a gravel path that lead to an old elm nearby.

Underneath that tree there was a small wooden bench. Harry sat down on it, waiting. At any other occasion he would probably enjoy the view of a foggy morning landscape stretching far to the horizon, but this time he did not even register it; his insides were clenched with trepidation.

He could feel his presence. His inability to see him made that experience even stronger.

"How did you find us?" he broke the silence again. "Why are you here?"

At that moment the bench moved under a new weight and a high, cold voice spoke so close to Harry that he almost jumped to his feet.

"You came alone as expected. Always trying to save the day by yourself, Potter?"

Harry squinted sideways, but all he could discern was a blurred outline of the dark robe. His glasses could not properly correct his poor eyesight from that extreme angle.

It was obvious, though, that Voldemort decided to remove the Disillusionment Charm that made him invisible. He did not seem to mind very much that they still could be spotted from behind that low barrier of bushes which partly surrounded the bench.

Harry did not look at him directly. He just sat there, stiff and silent, wondering what he was supposed to do. It would be much easier if he knew why Voldemort searched him out. He would know how to respond to him.

Theoretically, it should not matter, since they were still enemies and all, but Harry could not help but feel a difference.

They were, after all, connected by an experience which could hardly be forgotten or disregarded.

He might play a victim all he liked, but nothing could ever change about the fact that there was a moment when he really wanted it. When he asked for it.

Suddenly, he felt very uncomfortable. Turning around and cursing the man next to him would be almost like hurting someone he deeply cared about because they were technically lovers now - at least by that old-fashioned definition.

And then there were these feelings filling his chest: he did not want any of them, yet he could not simply get rid of them. It was in his nature to easily bond with other people and for far less significant reasons than this one.

Curiously enough, Voldemort paid no heed to his distress. Harry was almost grateful.

"So...," his chilly voice broke the silence at last. "Your friends decided not to kill you. It should come as no surprise considering the sheer amount of luck you possess, Potter."

A brief pause followed, just enough for someone to take in a breath.

"You have confided in them, I presume?"

"Yes," Harry said curtly, not a muscle moving on his face. "I have."

He still did not look at Voldemort, though it had cost him a lot of effort.

The bright red eyes teeming with annoyance narrowed on him.

"You know it is just a question of time until they reconsider."

"So what?" Harry barked heatedly, glancing towards him. "If you ever had friends - I mean real friends - you would know why I did it. Their safety comes first!"

And then he quickly looked away, staring down at his clenched fists and breathing fast.

Voldemort surveyed Harry from head to toe with his assessing gaze; Harry could tell that he realized by now that normal people did not sweat like this at such a low temperature unless frightened to death - which Harry was not. The remaining question was whether Riddle already deduced the true reason of Harry's growing unfortunate affliction. Possibly not, which was making everything much worse.

Oh, how much Harry wanted to … feel him. It was insane, it was madness, it was wrong in every possible way and yet...

Yet...

Harry pulled at his hair in desperation. A little sparkle … and he would catch fire.

"Potter," Voldemort finally said, sounding rather annoyed. "Why are you so...?"

" _What?_ " Harry growled. "Why am I so what?!"

Their eyes met and Harry lunged at him.

He did not mean to do it, it was like a reflex or something. The whole incident did not last longer than a second though; Harry barely touched Voldemort when a brutal force raised him to his feet and threw him backwards. Harry did not even have time to brace for an impact. His body hit the tree trunk hard and he slid down to his knees, gasping for breath. Eyes streaming, he swayed back to his feet, coughing.

"Wh- why?" he gasped. "I wasn't attacking you!"

Pushing the glasses up his nose, he quickly collected his wand, pointing it at the enraged Dark Lord.

"And you think I believe you that, Potter?" Voldemort hissed at Harry, the Elder Wand emitting little sparks as he clutched it in his hand.

"You - you don't understand! I just wanted to...!"

_Kiss you._

Uh. Oh.

Harry deflated.

He did not give his urge a name – until now. Thoroughly embarrassed, Harry tucked his wand back in his jeans and took a couple of steps towards Voldemort, who watched him warily.

"Potter," the man warned, apparently distraught at how fearless Harry acted around him.

"You know, I really hate it when you pretend that nothing happened between us. Between you and me," Harry pointed at him, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's face. "Especially since we both know how much you enjoyed it."

The Dark Lord was, for once, speechless.

"But tell me, why should I pretend the same?" Harry continued fervently as his impulsiveness took over. "Because I don't mind telling you that I liked it - sort of. I don't mind saying that I want to kiss you. Or that I want even more than that. That I would enjoy hearing you scream in pleasure much more than in pain. Killing you is pretty down on my priority list at the moment."

It was wonderfully liberating to be this unreasonable for once. Harry relished in it, forgetting his shame for a moment.

Voldemort, on the other hand, looked completely astonished. He stared wordlessly at Harry, his scarlet eyes wide, his mouth slacked with surprise and the Elder Wand dangling between his fingers, forgotten.

"And now I've startled you," Harry lowered his voice until it was just a quiet whisper. "I've never managed to achieve this before either."

The Dark Lord seemed to be unable of a vocal response. He _did_ get up and take a step back, though. Harry made him _retreat_. For one euphoric moment he felt like the ruler of the world.

" _Damn_ , I want you, Tom," Harry dared, biting his lower lip. He did not know what possessed him, but it felt amazing.

"Have you spared a thought of how would it feel? Tell me..."

The pale, thin lips quivered, soundless, but Voldemort's breath was much louder than before. He licked his upper lip, revealing a tip of his tongue for the briefest moment. It was unintentional, Harry knew, yet he could not stop himself from responding to it.

"I bet you are hard for me already, imagining what I could do for you... You see, you don't even need a Firewhiskey to achieve that."

"Surely not as hard as you are for me, Potter," Voldemort snapped in an attempt to regain his footing. His fingers distractedly stroked the Elder Wand and that sight made Harry's blood boil.

"You do somewhat … fascinate me, I admit," he said softly, finally composing himself. "Who would have thought that Dumbledore's Golden Boy could possibly..."

"Hit on Lord Voldemort?" Harry filled in. "Remember, it was you who started this, as always."

Voldemort's face fell a little, but his interest did not.

"I wonder, would you really be willing to do all the things you said - here and now - with your friends watching?"

That comment cooled Harry's enthusiasm significantly. He looked around, suddenly terrified that someone from the Order might see them.

"I thought so," Voldemort smirked, taking the lead. "Therefore, it genuinely surprises me, Potter, how poorly you are interested in the _true_ purpose of my visit. Or did you really think I just stopped by to listen to your … adolescent fantasies?"

"You don't seem to be disinterested," Harry bit out. "But to answer your question – no, I don't really want to know your reasons because I'm pretty sure that I won't like any of them."

"Well, then you obviously don't care about the fact that I am here because of the Order of the Phoenix and not you, Potter."

Harry shot him a glare; it was bad news just as he expected.

"And what is it that you want from them?" he said shortly, gripping the handle of the wand in his jeans. The return to the cold, grey reality was always painful, but this time it was particularly difficult for Harry.

Voldemort did not give him a direct answer right away. Instead, he dived his hand into the depths of his robes and drew out a small package wrapped in a silk fabric.

He unwrapped it carefully and a second later, Harry recognized Helga's cup.

Only it looked much different from the last time he saw it. Dirty and stained, the cup was constantly bleeding some dark, tarry liquid which smudged the fabric and dropped to the ground with nasty squelching sounds. Voldemort held it carefully in his hand, folding his fingers around it gently as if afraid he might shatter it by mistake.

"Do you see it, Potter?"

Harry gave a jerky nod; he had feared it would come down to this. Now that he saw the damage, he understood Voldemort's anger. Bill had tried to explain him in detail the dark magic he'd used on it, however, Harry still had a feeling that he did not really get his explanation. For instance, when he had seen the cup the last time, it was already cursed and yet it seemed perfectly all right which meant that something bad had to happen to it after Bellatrix touched it. And that was where it all became even more complicated, because according to Bill, the cup should have remained intact after it sucked in Bellatrix's magic and let her suffer a slow death. Apparently, something went wrong here and Harry had a feeling that the problem was connected to the fact that the cup itself was full of dark magic even before Bill started to meddle with it.

Anyway, the damage was real and close to the point described as 'beyond magical repair'. Voldemort's fiery glare silently confirmed it.

"Now, look at yourself, Potter," he continued coldly. "Healthy and strong, aren't you? Somehow, I don't think the Order fulfilled their part of the bargain to everyone's satisfaction. Certainly not to mine. I can only assume they foolishly believed that their dirty little trick with this precious Founder's relic will remain unavenged."

Harry slowly pulled out his wand, keeping it behind his back as he watched Voldemort right himself to his far above average height.

He suffered in silence. He hoped, just a few moments ago, that he could find a way how to avoid another conflict, but it was impossible now. He just began to see how naïve he was when he thought, even for a second, that he could change anything...

"They lived in an illusion which ends today," Voldemort whispered, his voice reaching new levels of iciness. Although he appeared calm, Harry felt violent tugs in his scar connected to the rage which simmered underneath Voldemort's mask of indifference.

Harry bit his lip hard, tasting his blood. He would not show any weakness, no matter what.

The Dark Lord slowly drummed his fingers against the Elder Wand.

"I have made a decision, Potter. If this Horcrux dies, I'll make them pay the highest price. And you-," he said, pointing his wand at him, "you will not stop me since I have every right to obtain my revenge. You can relate to that, can't you?"

"I will not stand aside and watch my friends die," Harry said, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. "So if this is what you want, I suggest we have a death match right now."

Voldemort clicked his tongue against his palate with disappointment. His scarlet eyes narrowed even further as the sun hit them with a full force.

"I cannot say I did not expect this," he said, tucking the Horcrux back inside his robes with a great care. "This is also why I did not attack the house directly."

"You cannot get inside! The house is protected by the Fidelius Charm!"

"That protection was breached the moment I was taken in."

"You … how-?!" Harry gasped in disbelief. "You're lying," he snapped then, pointing at his scar shaped like a bolt of lightening. "That's not how it works. You cannot get inside because of this!"

"You are quite right, Potter," Voldemort said nonchalantly. "However, I don't remember mentioning anything about your scar."

Harry gaped at him, scalded by those words.

Then, slowly, his gaze fell down to his shoes.

"Don't tell me that..."

"Fast and precise deduction, Potter. Sometimes, I wish my Death Eaters could use those oval objects that grow upon their necks the same way that you do. It would have spared me a lot of pointless work."

"You can track down your own magic," Harry whispered dully, for he was still in shock.

"Of course I can. It creates a similar magical disturbance in protection spells as the Taboo does."

"I won't let you hurt them."

Resolution flared in Harry's eyes. He was determined to fight; whatever else he felt had no place in his heart at the moment.

"Actually," Voldemort said, adding a scary little smile that made Harry's insides tighten again, "you can still prevent it. Their fate lies in your hands entirely."

"It depends what you want in return," Harry retorted.

"It's simple, Potter. Find a cure for my Horcrux and they'll live. Fail to do so and they all will face the consequences."

"And how can I possibly find the cure when you can't?!" Harry snarled, shaking his head.

"Who said that I can't? I will naturally assist you with this task," Voldemort said indifferently.

It took a couple of seconds before Harry fully comprehended what was said. His knees buckled up.

"You … and me? You want to … work _with_ me?"

"You would work _for_ me! There's a certain difference to it!" Voldemort hissed disapprovingly.

Harry was not his follower; he would not let Voldemort order him around. However, he decided not to upset Riddle any further. Especially since he was still willing to spare the lives of the whole anti-pureblood movement.

"So, what do you say, Potter?"

"All right," Harry said slowly, feeling somewhat mollified. "Have it your way. I'll save your soul if you give up your revenge upon my friends. Now, I guess you want to leave soon. What shall I take along?"

"Whatever you need," Voldemort waved his hand dismissively. "You'd better hurry, though. It seems that someone's looking for you."

"Right. I just need to go back and tell everyone that-"

Distant sounds of steps on the gravel approached them slowly but surely.

"Harry?"

The moment Ron's voice came out from behind the tree, Harry gestured at the Dark Lord to get away, but Voldemort just watched him with growing amusement.

"Harry, where are you?"

Now that Hermione joined Ron, Harry gritted his teeth, glaring at his nemesis. He needed to prevent the confrontation, no matter what.

"I need them," he whispered to Voldemort, who raised the Elder Wand, preparing to eradicate the potential witnesses.

"You said I can take whatever I need!" Harry pressed when he saw that cruel intent swirling in those blood-red eyes.

"And why should a Mudblood and a blood traitor be of any importance to me?"

"Don't call them that! Hermione is the cleverest witch I know. And Ron is the best strategist with brilliant ideas. I managed to survive this long only thanks to them. Blood purity is not everything, so if -", Harry quickly glanced behind the tree, seeing his friends coming closer, "if you want me to be actually helpful, they must come with me."

Harry honestly could not think of a better way how to achieve safety for his friends. If Voldemort considered them important for their task, they would all live to see tomorrow.

"You can't possibly convince them-"

"Leave it up to me."

"Well... If you insist," Voldemort said nonchalantly before he lowered his wand.

The moment Ron poked his long, freckled nose behind the elm tree, the dark wizard disappeared from Harry's eyes, merging with the background.

"Harry? There you are!" Ron grinned at him, but then his eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

"We heard you talk to someone..."

"I – I'll explain everything later," Harry stuttered out, wiping small droplets of sweat from his forehead. "I've … let's say I've discovered something … very important. We need to get going. Hermione, can you summon your handbag from here?"

She looked up at him with surprise and gave a curt nod.

"Do it now, please. We must leave quickly."

She waved her wand immediately and with a sound of a shattering glass a small object surged up from one of the upper windows, flying towards Hermione.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry called out right after that and the shining stag sprung from the tip of his wand effortlessly. It galloped towards the house and jumped right inside through the front wall.

"The Order will be informed in a minute. Now, take my hand," he said firmly.

Ron did it without hesitation, wrapping his other arm around Hermione's waist.

Now Harry waited only for...

"Are you coming?" he asked frustratedly, ignoring confused glances of his friends. Only when he felt the long, thin fingers curl around his elbow, he released his breath.

And, with a thought that everything could be much worse than this, Harry turned on the spot.


	13. Challenge

They landed, somewhat heavily, on a wet, mossy ground. Harry struggled at first to keep his balance but his effort was soon smothered by someone else falling over him. His knees buckled up and he ended in a horizontal position with two more bodies sprawled on top of him. To make things worse, he hit his head hard against a tree trunk and all he could see now was thousands of tiny stars swirling behind his closed eyelids.

"Harry! Harry, I'm so sorry!" Hermione instantly cried over Ron's loud swearing.

"I'm … I'm okay," Harry coughed. "Just get off me, please."

"Well, I wouldn't mind doing that right away if I knew how to free my ankle from that stupid stump!" Ron yelped exasperatedly.

"Calm down, Ron! Sit up and I'll help you out," Hermione huffed in a strangled voice.

After some hectic scrambling and rearranging Harry finally felt the weight being lifted off him, allowing him to breathe again.

He hoisted himself up and rubbed the sore on his head while quickly checking the surroundings. Ron was sitting next to him, still lamenting and clutching at his right calf which was deeply embedded in a rotting wood.

Hermione receded a few steps, pulled out her wand and considered the possibilities.

"Careful, Ron," she said then. "Rather put your hands away."

"Just don't blast away my leg as well, okay?"

She scowled at him briefly, but then her expression softened as she focused on the task at hand.

"Confringo!" she said firmly and the stump went to the pieces with a loud blast.

Luckily, Ron's leg did not follow the same fate.

He jerked it away quickly and rubbed his shank as if to confirm it remained whole.

"Thanks Hermione," he said with relief. "What would we do without you..."

"Nothing - we would be dead," Harry noted as he got up and swept away the foliage that remained on his clothes.

"Anyway, sorry for that Apparation," he added. "I was … distracted."

"Pretty much distracted, I'd say," Ron uttered pointedly. "It's not like you to mess up, Harry, but at least we made it here in one piece... Err ... by the way, where exactly are we? I know what this place reminds me, but don't tell me that..."

"We are in the Forbidden Forest," Hermione filled in and turned straight to Harry. "The question is why."

"Forbidden Forest!" Ron yelped, glancing up at the thick treetops which blocked most of the sunlight. "That was what I was thinking! But this is crazy! Why in the name of Merlin's pants would you take us to the Forbidden Forest, Harry? Wanna see the Death Eaters again? Or maybe you'd like to say hi to those giant spiders and other insane monsters which lurk in-"

"Ron, could you stay quiet for a second, I'm trying to concentrate here!" Harry cut across him. His voice was harsh and Harry could see the unspoken question in his friends' eyes as they looked at him. He understood their perturbation for he knew how foolish and dangerous his decision must have appeared to them. And he did, in fact, act upon a reckless impulse, but quite frankly staying at Aunt Muriel's would be a far greater mistake.

Ron mentioned other insane monsters: he could not possibly know how close to the truth he was.

Harry shuddered.

The Forbidden Forest was a creepy place no matter how he looked at it, with all that ominous green darkness surrounding them and the strange mist swirling around their feet. Yet, it could easily become even creepier, especially if Harry failed to discern where Voldemort disappeared and why he was not standing here, threatening them and laughing at them. As crazy as it sounded it would make him feel better than this unnerving suspense.

And so he closed his eyes and tried to relax as much as possible since he had already learned that the easiest way how to gain access to Voldemort's mind was simply not fighting it.

Something felt different this time, though. Harry felt somehow disconnected; it was never this strenuous before, except the time when Voldemort used Occlumency against him.

Frustrated with his initial failure, Harry actively tried to penetrate the 'wall' or whatever it was that separated them and he was eventually rewarded with the alien emotions. Then the sensory perceptions overruled everything else and he saw through Voldemort's eyes the high wrought-iron gates with winged boats on tall pillars and a distant castle shining in the early morning light above it all.

Harry quickly emerged from his mind, breathing fast.

His friends were standing in front of him, watching him intently.

"Harry," Hermione began softly, "what's going on?"

"I know I promised to tell you," he said as calmly as he could. "Just give me a second."

He kicked off his shoes, took out 'his' wand and quickly set them on fire.

"Come on," he said then, taking a hold of Hermione's elbow. "We must go."

But she and Ron merely exchanged confused looks.

"Harry … have you just … burned your own shoes?" Ron asked in a voice that insinuated that he was seriously worried about Harry's mental health.

"Yeah, I have," Harry nodded impatiently. "It was important. Now come on, let's hurry!"

Fortunately, they followed him without further questions, although Harry was sure he heard Ron mutter something about Luna Lovegood and her contagious behaviour.

It was at least half a mile closer to the school, actually almost too close to the edge of the forest since the air had already become much brighter and sunnier, when Harry finally stopped and turned to them.

He did not want to risk crossing the border of the Hogwarts grounds … yet.

"He knows," he told them after he cast a quick Muffliato charm. "Voldemort discovered the hideout of the Order of the Phoenix."

The reaction he received was as violent as he expected.

"WHAT?!" Ron bellowed. "We must go back – we must warn them – everyone - my FAMILY!"

"I warned them, Ron, remember? I sent the Patronus!" Harry said quickly. "They are safe now – for now," he corrected himself.

"How?" Hermione whispered, looking rather pale. "How could he find us? And how do you know – you … you looked into his head, right?"

"No, not really. It happened this morning - you know, when I felt so unwell - I had a sudden vision of him standing at the doorstep of the house we were in. That's why I went outside."

Ron's chin dropped another inch.

"Y-you...," he stammered, "you had a vision of YOU-KNOW-WHO standing at the doorsill of Aunt Muriel's and YOU WENT OUTSIDE?"

"Well, better than inviting him in, wasn't it?" Harry said, exasperated. "But you asked, Hermione, how he found us. It was because of me, or, more specifically, because of those dreadful shoes I just destroyed. I was so STUPID to think that he had no ulterior motive when he gave it to me... It was my fault..."

"Screw that! It hardly matters whose fault it was! Just tell us what happened!" Ron burst out.

"Well, he was mad. Mad because his cup was badly damaged by Bill's curse. Mad because Bellatrix is dead … or whatever. Also, the fact that he was deceived by the Order did not improve his mood very much."

"But he did not attack...," Hermione said, her face so pale it reflected the green of the forest around.

"No. He would have to kill me and that's something he does not want to do just yet … for obvious reasons."

Harry took a deep breath.

"And so he came up with this solution. Either we'll help him find a cure for his damaged Horcrux or he will hunt down and kill every single member of the Order. If we fail to save it in time, he will do it anyway."

"But you didn't agree with that, did you?" Ron whispered after a considerable stretch of horrified silence.

"Well, I could say no, Ron," Harry said sourly. "However, in that case you would be dead by now and Hermione would be dead and every other person who was at Muriel's this morning would be dead too. Except of me, of course, but I would feel much more dead than any of you would be."

The silence swallowed them again, heavier than before.

"But he's not here now, is he?" Hermione asked after a moment and that question made Ron whirl around with his wand at the level of his eyes.

"No, he's probably at the castle by now," Harry shook his head. "And that surprised me a lot, actually. How could he know where I was taking us?"

"What? He Apparated with us?!" Ron groaned; he appeared to be close to faint.

"Yes - and you wanted to know why I was so distracted, Ron."

Harry's best friend sank to the ground and hid his face behind his palms, muttering something indistinguishable under his breath.

"Well, if he's gone now, we could get away, right?" Hermione suggested, apparently trying to make some plan.

"And break the word I gave him again?" Harry asked quietly.

"Harry, it's YOU-KNOW-WHO we're talking about here! He wouldn't mind to stab you dead right now if he could!" Ron groaned from the ground.

"Maybe, but he also did not kill anyone this morning. Besides, if we ran away as Hermione suggested, the whole Order would become his priority target."

"As if it isn't by now," Ron said heatedly.

"No, Ron, it's not! As much as I hate to say it, I am his priority target after he obtained the Elder Wand! And I think you can tell the difference between being in the wrong place at the wrong time and being hunted down with a cold-blooded purpose! I don't know how about you, but I don't want that fate for your family, Lupin, Tonks … anyone!"

"So what do we do?" Ron whispered in a much tamer voice. "Help him, though we are supposed to destroy the Horcruxes? That's ridiculous."

"Well, I'm open to suggestions," Harry said. "But I was thinking of some plan as well."

"If you want to know my opinion," Ron said, raising himself from the ground, "I don't want to help him. I just don't want to do anything for him for whatever reason. He killed your parents, Dumbledore, Mad-Eye and … and … I don't even want to go there."

"I understand you completely. But could you at least pretend?"

"Pretend?"

"Yes, pretend we're helping him."

"But why? It's not going to save anyone..."

"Harry," Hermione interrupted them, "are you by any chance planning to gain You-Know-Who's trust?"

Harry hesitated for a second before he nodded.

"Partly," he admitted and raised his hand to stop Ron's outcry. "The thing is that he will never trust you two, but I think he wants to trust me to some degree. He knows that a part of him lives inside me; he felt it... I think that's also why he refuses to believe that this part of him - well, any part of him - actually cooperates on his demise."

"And this is what it is? This is who you are?" Ron asked a little unsure.

"No, of course not. That's just his own biased opinion. I am Harry Potter and there's no one in control over me. And I think it was pretty obvious when he tried to possess me back at the Ministry but he just did not learn the lesson."

"All right, all right. I understand now. We'll play along and you'll try to gain his trust but what then?"

"I have to destroy the remaining Horcruxes, don't I?" Harry whispered. "Dumbledore did not tell me how should we progress about it so I guess it's solely up to our decision."

At that point, Harry's thoughts turned back to what Hermione told him about those cursed objects. There was more than one way of destroying them; not everything had to be done with swords and brutal force – but could his friends understand it? They would probably laugh bitterly, if he mentioned Voldemort and remorse in one sentence. They would think that he was simply not human enough for that. And they would probably be right.

Harry gritted his teeth. He had to quench those weird feelings or whatever it was that consumed him whenever Voldemort was around lately. They were totally irrelevant. He hated Voldemort and he should not - must not - feel anything else. He would simply ignore those stupid reactions of his treacherous body the next time they met.

Honestly, now that Voldemort was safely out of the reach, Harry could not understand why he did what he did. Just a memory of their latest encounter made him squirm in discomfort. But it had happened and he had to learn to live with it. He was not, after all, the only one who made a pass at a wrong person. Ron had dated a girl who called him 'Won-Won' once and Hermione... Yes, she had attended Slughorn's Christmas party with Cormac McLaggen! Compared to them, he overdid it just a little.

Okay, maybe a lot.

But still, it would not happen again.

Ever.

"Anyway," he said aloud and dragged his chilled feet in the wet grass. "It would be suicidal to attempt anything right now since Voldemort keeps his remaining Horcruxes under his watchful eye. Our chances of successful invasion in Malfoy Manor virtually equals zero. And if we failed in this … well, then it would be over."

"So, all you want to say is that we must stay alive and watch for our chances," Hermione summarized.

"No, you must stay alive," he emphasized. "I'm not quite so sure about myself and no-", he pointed at Ron and then at Hermione, "don't argue about that. If there's no one left to finish our mission..."

"Right – I see that we'd better help You-Know-Who or else we are dead. Splendid," Ron interrupted him and shuddered with distaste. "I never thought we would sink so low..."

"Well, if you've got any better idea, Ron...? " Hermione said.

He looked down at his hands and then he rubbed them several times.

"Remorse," he grumbled under his breath.

"What did you say?" Harry whispered and his heart began to beat faster.

"I said remorse! I want You-Know-Who to feel it! I know that it's utter nonsense but I also want Harry to stay with us no matter what and that's the only way how we can achieve that!"

Ron's unexpected outburst rendered Harry speechless. It never occurred to him that Ron could possibly feel it that way and it filled him with such a warmth that he really felt his misery fade away for a moment.

The stunned silence was disrupted by Hermione's quiet sob.

"I knew...," she whispered, "I knew there must be a wonderful reason why I love you, but I never thought … I..."

She hugged him tightly, buried her face into his shoulder and then, finally, she kissed him full on the lips.

"Err … sorry I can't give you two more privacy," Harry said in a small voice, unsure how to respond to such an open display of passion between his friends.

"But thank you, Ron," he cleared his throat when Hermione finally stepped aside. "I guess that's the reason why I like you too..."

Ron grinned at him and raised his hands. "Just don't try to kiss me too, okay?" he said happily.

"Some other time then," Harry cracked a smile, before coming over and giving him a friendly hug.

"Thanks mate," he said again. "Now we only have to convince a certain dark wizard that this would be the greatest idea he ever had."

"I'm sure he'd find it absolutely thrilling," Ron nodded vehemently.

"Surely not as thrilling as we would find his reaction a moment later."

"Yeah, that would be really something. But at least he would no longer be the only one torn into several pieces..."

"We'd probably even beat his record of eight!"

"Stop it right now, boys! It's not funny! Let's be realistic," Hermione interposed, once again composed and critical.

"I must oppose, Hermione," Ron wrinkled his nose. "I was being very realistic."

"You know what I meant!" she stomped her foot angrily. "This will bring us nowhere. Harry's right. We must stay alive or else everything was in vain."

"All right," she continued avidly as she turned back to Harry. "I need to know what time we've got left to find the cure and I need to have an access to a library. I will also read those horrible Dark Arts books again, maybe I'll find some clue there..."

"I think that if the cure was mentioned in any Dark Arts book, You-Know-Who would hardly ask our help," Ron pointed out.

"We have to start somewhere," Hermione said firmly. "By the way, it was a clever idea to take us here, Harry. Hogwarts is a repository of knowledge. Where else should we start our search than here?"

Harry fidgeted a little. He wanted to say that he planned it all along, but that would be such an obvious lie that he would feel like a fool for saying it aloud.

"Right," he nodded instead. "But first we need to get inside the school unnoticed."

He paused, then scratched his forehead and finally looked down at his feet.

His toes were turning blue already.

"There's also another thing … Hermione, don't you have another pair of shoes in that miraculous handbag of yours?"

xxxxx

In the end, finding a new footwear for Harry was not an issue. True, Hermione had to improvise a bit but whenever Hermione improvised the results tended to be great.

It was the secure infiltration of Hogwarts that troubled Harry so much more.

He tried to explain to his friends that Voldemort would hardly make it any easier for them and it would be very unwise to count on that. In the ideal case, he would at least order his Death Eaters not to kill them the moment they were spotted. But they should not take that for granted either.

So, after a long discussion when they confronted their ideas, they decided to enter the castle using a secret passage from the Shrieking Shack. The only risky person who knew about this tunnel was Snape and considering the recent development, it appeared that Snape was on their side after all.

Coming to a final agreement, they Apparated right in the middle of a dank, overgrown garden. There, amid distorted old trees, shrivelled a creepy house with boarded doors and windows.

"Seriously," Ron commented anxiously, "I cannot decide whether it looks worse from the inside or from the outside."

"It's … equally bad," Hermione nodded bemusedly.

"There are no ghosts in there and even if they were, ghosts are not what terrifies me," Harry said firmly. "Come on, let's do this."

To Harry's surprise, it was unexpectedly difficult for them to get inside. Only when he had looked at it from Dumbledore's perspective, he understood it. Dumbledore certainly wanted to make sure that no one overly curious and courageous would be able to 'visit' Lupin while he was inside. Therefore, he had placed many advanced enchantments on this shabby looking construction to keep everyone away. Again, they would hardly succeed with this without Hermione's amazing knowledge.

When she had finally successfully removed all the protective wards, they Apparated inside and now that they finally stood in a dirty, dusty room with paper peeling off the walls, the very same room where Harry had learned the truth about the traitor, who had sold his parents to Voldemort, Harry felt an oppressive weight fall on his chest.

It was a challenge to cope with all the things which had recently happened; only the thought that he was trying to do his best eventually calmed him enough to continue. He nodded at his friends in silence and then one after another they slid down the dark entrance into a long spooky, tunnel.

Harry went first, Hermione was behind him and Ron was at the end, all of them crawling slowly forward in the limited space they had.

"This is really crazy," Ron huffed indignantly as he slipped in a sticky mud and fell face forward into the grime. "Are we really crawling on all fours into Hogwarts to help You-Know-Who save that vicious thing that keeps him immortal? If we do, I think we should really have tried knocking on the gates first..."

"And say hello to his Death Eaters again? Honestly, I can live without that experience," Hermione replied sourly. "Besides, when you are talking about those vicious things, always look at Harry first."

"I don't feel insulted," Harry said and then he paused, raising the shining tip of his wand a little. "Did you just feel something right now?" he asked when a strong chill ran down his spine.

Hermione looked at Ron and then both shook their heads.

"I must be imagining things," Harry muttered, crawling forward once again.

"We should be there soon, " he said when the tunnel finally began to rise. "I'll take care of the Whomping willow. Hermione, please, pull out the invisibility cloak. We will need it."

"It's ready," she whispered right away, apparently having it prepared before.

"Okay," Harry said and scrambled up, trying not to slide down on the slick soil. Using the bulky roots to support himself, he finally pushed himself outside and his eyes instantly searched for the small knot at the base of the tree that should paralyse it.

Before he could succeed, however, the cold chill he felt in the tunnel few moments ago returned with a full force. The air's temperature dropped steeply, making Harry's breath visible. It chilled his chest until he choked on it. A sudden dimness blinded his eyes and soon he could hardly see a thing aside the shapes that moved in that darkness; floating figures that spread the blackness, moving in a great wave towards them, their faces hooded and their breath rattling and foetid...

Harry heard Ron and Hermione scream at him, but their voices grew muted, deadened, because of the silence only Dementors could create...

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione's voice reached to him from a very large distance and he tried to focus on it.

"Conjure a Patronus, Harry, quickly!"

He could not breathe … but he needed to live, he needed to recall a happy memory...

BANG!

Something hit him with such a force that Harry briefly lost consciousness. When he came around, he had blood in his mouth and his nose hurt horribly, his glasses were gone and so was his wand.

The darkness the Dementors created was so thick now that he could barely see. He noticed glimpses of silver as Hermione or Ron probably tried to produce their Patronuses while battling the willow, but Harry felt as if his brain was shattered.

Icy coldness was spreading through his insides and to his horror he realized that one of the Dementors was already leaning down to him.

"Accio!" he yelped in panic. "Accio wand!"

The Dementor caught his extended hand into his slimy, rotting claws and pulled it away, still gliding closer and closer to him, lowering its hood. It was the same terrifying sight Harry had the misfortune to see on one occasion before … there were no eyes, only thin, foul skin stretched over the empty sockets and then the mouth … a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with the sound of a death rattle…

Harry pushed it back with all the strength he could muster and tried to crawl away.

He needed to find his wand and conjure the Patronus or else their fate was sealed...

But the monster caught up with him fast and turned him on his back again, clutching at his neck and pulling his face upwards. He tried to keep his mouth closed, but it was impossible, the putrid smell was past his endurance, he was going to retch any time soon...

And then, suddenly, there was light … brilliant and shiny, chasing away that chilling emptiness that threatened to overwhelm him. Harry felt the clutches of the Dementor release his throat, allowing him to suck the air into his empty lungs.

Dangling at the edge of semi-consciousness, Harry turned his head aside and tried to focus his weak eyesight on the Patronus that chased the Dementors away.

And he finally saw it.

It was a silver Doe.

Harry's mind went black.

xxxxx

"Harry … Harry!" Hermione's soft voice was calling to him over the endless dark abyss.

Only with a great reluctance, he listened to her.

"Harry?" Ron joined her and now he could no longer ignore them.

He was in the bed, his senses returning to him. It was strange; he did not remember anything at first...

He opened his eyes and saw Hermione, dishevelled, her lip bleeding, but otherwise unharmed. Ron, who sat beside her was just as dirty, if not more, but fortunately he also seemed only moderately hurt.

"Thank Merlin they did not Kiss you, Harry!" his best friend whispered, and Harry's memories returned to him in a flood. Immediately, he sat up and looked around wildly. "We were really becoming worried for you."

"Speak for yourself, Weasley," a well-known, cynical voice commented from above.

Harry turned his head and met the ever sneering face of no one else than Severus Snape.

"You saved us," Harry said distractedly. "It was you who conjured that Doe. You … you gave us the sword … you spoke the truth," Harry said, astonished.

"A little louder, Potter," Snape grimaced. "The Dark Lord wants to hear it too."

Harry glanced around again, but he could not see the man with a flattened, serpentine face and fierce, blood red eyes anywhere in the room.

"Imagine my surprise, Potter, when the Dark Lord told me that you will appear here soon. I refused to believe that; I thought that the Order would not let Harry Potter swank like that; apparently I was wrong. Harry Potter always has everything his way."

"I did not come here to swank!" Harry yelped while pushing Hermione away, although she merely tried to repair his broken and swollen nose.

"Harry, will you stop it?-!" she finally snapped. "Or do you want to have a crooked nose forever?"

Harry, remembering Dumbledore, immediately fell still, waiting until Hermione was finished.

"Good," she eventually said, before forcing a piece of chocolate into his mouth.

"Eat this!" she ordered, sounding nearly as bad as Madam Pomfrey.

Once he gulped down the sweet substance Harry already started to feel better.

"So," he spoke to Snape again. "Are we his prisoners now, or what?"

"I already asked that," Ron muttered. "It seems that we are not, but there are certain conditions to it... Moreover, no one seems to know that we're here. I did not see a single student in the corridors when we were moving you to the hospital wing..."

"They are all in the classes, Weasley, but you wouldn't even know how it looks like according to your OWL results. One would have doubted you ever attended this school."

"Hey!" Ron jumped up, his ears turning red.

Snape did not pay him further attention.

"Anyway, Potter, I have instructions for you from the Dark Lord. He wants to see you. Now. He awaits you in the Clock Tower. As for you two," he added and looked at Ron and Hermione, "You are allowed to enter the school library, however, under a constant supervision. Your supervisor will be Draco Malfoy. He will meet you there. You are not allowed to talk to anyone else unless you want to face the dire consequences. Is that clear?"

"No way!" Ron roared. "We will not leave Harry alone with _him_! And I absolutely refuse to have _Draco Malfoy_ as my supervisor!"

Snape made a wry face and looked at him scoffingly.

"Obviously, Weasley, you are not intellectually capable to understand the current situation. I shall say it more simply then: You will do as I say or you will _very likely_ die. There is no place for any discussion. Did your little brain finally get it or do I have to repeat myself again?"

Before Harry or Ron could respond to that really unfair offence, Hermione already protested.

"What did we do to you? Why are you so unfair to us?"

"I see... Maybe you are not as brainy as I thought, Granger," Snape said sourly. "Potter clearly swapped the sides and you two are not even aware of it."

Harry jumped from the bed and caught Snape under his collar, shaking him.

"I did not swap the sides!" he growled under his breath. "Never – do you understand me?!"

"Put – your – hands – off – me, Potter," the Headmaster said slowly and when Harry did so, he straightened his crumpled clothes.

"Well then," he continued, "I believe you must have a very good explanation for the Dark Lord's _passionate_ interest in your person, Potter."

"Well, I-"

"I do not want to hear it," Snape cut him off and then turned around and headed for the exit. He stopped a few steps later and glanced back at them over his shoulder.

"Oh, and welcome back to Hogwarts," he said ironically before disappearing behind the nearest corner.

xxxxx

Enraged beyond belief by his conversation with Snape, Harry did not wait to consult anything with his friends and set out towards the Clock Tower.

Just a few minutes later Harry already turned a massive brass doorknob and entered the highest room in the tower. Angry and upset, he scrutinized his surroundings. He honestly did not expect that Voldemort would allow the Dementors to attack them. Only seconds separated him from being Kissed and Riddle apparently did not seem to care. Harry hated to feel obliged to Snape, but if it were not for him, the little crumple of his soul would currently reside within the Dementor's rotting insides.

Harry shuddered with revulsion and stomped his feet angrily.

There was no one waiting for him there. The silence was pervasive and heavy and only the regular quiet sounds of the mechanism that ran the tower's clock assured him that he did not lose his hearing completely. Then he looked up at the narrow area between the clocks movement and the dial: there was a place from which was a nice view of the surrounding school grounds.

And there Voldemort stood, gazing into the distance, his hands folded behind his back. Harry's madly beating heart jumped into his throat and unsuccessfully tried to escape his body. He gulped it down harshly - he forbid himself to feel this way, didn't he? Besides, Voldemort appeared completely disinterested about Harry's presence, which only multiplied Harry's anger to barely containable level.

"Why?" he hissed at him, squeezing his hands into fists.

"Would you be so kind and start talking to me?" he said even angrier when he received no response. "I wanna know why you sent those freakin' Dementors after us! What reason could you possibly have? Or have you changed your mind in the end? Do you want me dead or what?"

Voldemort remained quiet for a little longer and then he finally stepped down and spoke to him.

"I've noticed that your famous stag lacked the antlers, Potter. I wonder why they disappeared?"

He looked at Harry, his bright red eyes gleaming creepily.

"And you are wrong," he continued softly. "I did not send the Dementors after you."

Harry watched him, battling the waves of shame, desire, rage, confusion and distaste. But one good outcome was guaranteed; Voldemort thought it was him who conjured the doe and not Snape...

"I did not stop them, though," Voldemort admitted after a short pause. "I needed to know if you would be able to get inside the castle against my will."

The tension which pulsed in Harry's veins melted away and his body visibly sagged with disappointment.

"Ah, I see. All you needed to know was whether or not I would be able to get inside unnoticed and destroy your Horcrux if it was still there."

"And you got further than I thought … much further indeed...," Voldemort nodded, his eyes still intent on him.

Harry took a deep breath of a stale, dusty air.

"Well, I'm glad I did not disappoint you," he snapped and turned on his heel to leave before one of his combatant emotions could win the fight.

"Potter!"

The icy word cut the air like a crack of the whip. Harry came to an instant halt and slowly turned back.

"I am not finished with you."

Harry said nothing, merely watched the man approach him slowly.

"You will tell me how you crossed the protective border so easily."

"Or?" Harry struggled to keep his anger under control.

"I will make you say it," Voldemort replied smoothly with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"You know you can't break me with the Imperius Curse and I'm really curious if you're going to use the Cruciatus on me again!"

"Oh no, Potter. No. That would be rather useless and unwise. However, you have other weak points, don't you? Your friends..."

Harry grabbed the wand and pulled it out.

"We have an agreement," he said hotly. "If it is no longer valid..."

"It is valid," Voldemort hissed, obviously dissatisfied with the progress. "For now."

"Well then?" Harry pressed as the silence stretched between them.

Voldemort turned away from him, folding his hands behind his back again.

"At least I found the reason why you took your dispensable friends with you. Who would have thought that they could actually come up with some employable idea..."

"My friends," Harry said and his voice shook with repressed emotions. "Are not dispensable."

"Yes, they are," Voldemort countered icily, "compared to the superior pure-blooded families."

"In that case … aren't you dispensable as well?" Harry said and quickly continued before Voldemort could fry him with his glare. "Besides, Ron is a pureblood."

"He is a filthy blood traitor – nothing more!"

"Like your mother?"

The Elder Wand slashed through the air, but curiously, Harry did not end up on the floor in terrible seizures. Voldemort apparently changed his mind in the very last second.

"Let's make another agreement," Harry said slowly, watching the suspicious little green sparkles at the tip of the Death Stick.

"Let's prove whether or not your superior purebloods are really that superior. If you prove me wrong, I will tell you how we got past the border. If not, you'll give me something in return."

"I will certainly not change my opinion of the Mudbloods based on some silly competition or whatever you have on your mind, Potter," Voldemort said with contempt.

"Afraid so much that you might lose?"

"Hardly."

"Then what's the problem?"

Voldemort gazed down at him distractedly judged by the way how the tip of his tongue swept several times over his thin, virtually indistinguishable upper lip.

Then he smiled one of his creepy smiles that made the faint hearts cower with fear.

"I find it odd that you're willing to waste your precious time on foolish games like this one instead of searching for the cure, but - very well, I am not opposed to it for now. Mostly because I want to see your face when you lose, Potter."

"And if I win?"

"You won't win, so it doesn't have to bother you."

"And if I win," Harry repeated, "I will also want my prize."

"I would never proclaim the Mudbloods equal to wizards, Potter, so forget that!"

"No," Harry sighed, "I'm sure you wouldn't do that."

"So, what prize are you talking about?" Voldemort sneered at him and began prowling along the railing behind which the massive cogged wheels regularly turned.

A thundering sound of the bells announcing another hour hammered Harry's thinking for several long seconds. And in that time he could only watch Voldemort, watch his ludicrous self-esteem, his unwavering conviction of his own truth which was as far from the real truth as anything could be. And the man did not know about it, did not have the faintest idea because no one ever showed him what life was really about...

So when the pounding sound of the bells finally quietened, Harry knew the answer.

Refusing to contemplate it again, he said aloud.

"I want a kiss," he announced.

It was amazing to watch how much that simple sentence affected Voldemort. He halted his pace and turned to Harry, incredulous.

"Do I get it correct," he whispered a moment later, his eyes pools of fire, "that you want me to grant you a kiss from some girl you have an interest in?"

"No," Harry said quietly, keeping his voice steady. "A kiss from you will be my prize."

"What did you say?"

Voldemort's whole body went rigid, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits and his breath momentarily ceased.

For a second Harry thought he went too far. And maybe he did. He wondered whether he should take back what he just said; it was hardly a good idea trying to amend a previous mistake by doing another, even worse one. On the other hand, a kiss never harmed anyone; and since Tom Riddle quite obviously never received one...

"You've heard me," Harry repeated courageously, watching the wand tremble in the Dark Lord's hand.

"And you think," Voldemort whispered, his voice low and dangerous, "that I would ever let you humiliate me like this?"

"H-humiliate?" Harry stuttered out, unable to stop himself regardless the risk of speaking at the moment.

"What else, Potter?!"

"So this is what you think when you see two people kissing! That they are trying to humiliate each other!"

"No, I know that those fools are mere slaves of their lust. But you … you certainly want something else!"

And then, suddenly, he laughed out aloud as if something occurred to him; the sound of it was high and chilling.

"You cannot possibly think that something as ridiculous as a kiss could possibly alter my opinion of love, can you?" he said with malevolent pleasure.

Harry did not deem it worth a response. He could not really blame him for being so ignorant though sometimes he wished he could.

"Does it mean that you agree with my terms?" he asked calmly instead. "If I win, I will get a kiss from you – a _proper_ kiss – not some peck on the lips or something like that."

"Well, since you won't win, Potter, I have absolutely no reason to worry about your request," Voldemort snapped icily again.

"Agreed then," Harry said, watching Voldemort's triumphant smile. The dark wizard appeared to be certain that he just won an access to Harry's secret and as a bonus he would degrade all the Muggle-borns even more that they already were.

It was his own fault though, Harry thought to himself, that he always tended to underestimate those, who were in his opinion far too low beneath his notice.

It was also a time for the Muggle-borns to teach him a lesson and Harry knew about one who could definitely do that.


	14. The Night at the Library

xxxxx

It had been almost a week since Harry had made his bet with Lord Voldemort. At first, he was proud of his idea; there was no student at Hogwarts today who could possibly beat Hermione Granger in knowledge or skills. Her victory would be indisputable. And Voldemort himself would have to admit it. But as the days passed on, and the Dark Lord did not announce any form of competition between purebloods and Muggle-borns, Harry became suspicious that the wizard was planning something else. Perhaps a special training for selected Slytherin students in fast and efficient ways of killing a highly advanced opponent. Or something equally direful. After all, Voldemort would hardly risk a shameful defeat in front of all the Hogwarts students, staff and his followers.

Harry's initial excitement, therefore, corroded away; his dark thoughts were eating him like an acid, leaving nothing but doubts and dread.

He had yet to tell his friends about this. Hermione still had no idea how foolishly he put her life at stake only to prove his own persuasion. It was one thing to make that decision for himself; quite another to do it for someone else.

Yes, he could see now how reckless he was; especially since they were in serious trouble already. After struggling through an uncountable number of magic books that the Hogwarts library provided, they were still nowhere near finding the cure for Voldemort's maimed Horcrux. And their time was slowly but unstoppably ticking out.

This was, clearly, just another thing the Dark Lord did on purpose. Keeping them in the dark about his Horcrux's condition gave him an option to appear any moment he chose and simply announce that they were too late. And Harry could not warn his friends ahead since Voldemort was using Occlumency against him again.

Giving into the urge to relieve his anger, Harry slammed his fist against the dusty Magical Maladies on the desk in front of him, making the flickering oil lamp beside it cartwheel in several circles.

Ron, who had been snoring contentedly until that moment in a nearby armchair, perked up at the sound and wiped the drool from his chin and also from the leather cover of Uncommon Magical Ailments And Illness which he used instead of a pillow.

Blinking sleepily, he muttered.

"Blimey, Harry, was that you?"

"Who else?" Harry sighed and sagged in his chair. His anger had subsided, but his frustration was much more resilient. "The library stays closed as long as we're here … so if you don't count Peeves, it makes the three of us quite alone."

"Well," Ron muttered, stretching his long limbs. "There's always Madam Pince, who must gather all the requested books for every student and teacher."

"I think that simple Accio should work for her just fine," Harry yawned, rubbing his stiff nape.

"Actually, that's a very good idea, Harry!" Ron said excitedly. "I wonder why Hermione didn't … where is she anyway?" he changed the subject, looking around the huge, cathedral-like room with shelves so high they disappeared in the darkness under the ceiling.

"I think she's back in the Restricted section," Harry said. "Though, I'm not sure if it is still Restricted under the current leadership. Perhaps they call it Compulsory now."

"Right," Ron smirked and pulled out his wand. "Wouldn't surprise me too much. Anyway, I'll go check on her, but first … Accio soul magic books!"

"RON – DON'T!"

And that was all Harry managed to shout out.

An ominous sound of an approaching avalanche filled their ears. The shelves above them began to shake and incline under the weight of revived knowledge.

Both boys watched, mesmerized, the impending disaster. When the first books began to fall down, Harry finally woke up from his consternation.

"Protego!" he shouted, pointing his wand upwards just a fraction of a second before one of the massive volumes could split his head in two.

"What … WHAT is this?-!" Ron cried, running around Harry like a headless chicken, followed by what seemed to be a ton of floating books keen on catching him and squashing him flat.

"Finite, Ron, _finite_!" Harry yelled, trying to keep them alive by holding his Shield Charm intact.

And then, suddenly, all the books dropped to the floor with a thunderous clatter.

"What are you two doing here?-!" a demanding voice came from the entrance to their aisle.

"H-Hermione," Ron groaned in relief, pushing the heavy books off himself. "Thanks Merlin, you're here."

"You haven't just tried to summon all the books in this library at once, have you?"

According to Harry, it was a very precise description of what had almost happened. After all, attempting to summon every book with the word magic in it basically meant summoning everything.

Still, he and Ron shook their heads in unison.

"Nope," Harry said breathlessly once he crawled out of the mass of leather and paper. "Something like that would never even cross our minds," Ron added quickly, following Harry's escape route. Hermione, however, remained unconvinced as she still watched them reproachfully.

"Whatever," she said then and flicked her wand. "Let's put this back in order before Madam Pince finds it out. And next time - be more careful!"

"Right, right… err … and how do you think we should … you know … put it back in order?" Ron muttered sheepishly, squinting at the havoc he caused.

"It's quite easy, really. I have dealt with far worse mess in my handbag before."

And then, all the books around them surged back into the air, rose higher and higher in a spiral, rotating faster and faster, before finding the proper positions on the shelves again.

Harry was speechless. Hermione's magic reminded him of Dumbledore and Slughorn working together to clean the damaged house where Slughorn resided two years ago. He wished Voldemort was here to see this … and felt a new prickle of conscience.

"Hermione, there's something you should know...," he began, but she did not hear him over the deafening flutter of thousands of pages.

"Anyway," she said when the noise finally quietened, "I think I finally found something helpful."

"Really? You're awesome, Hermione!" Ron jumped with excitement, looking over her shoulder to read the title of the book she was holding.

"If you think so," she said distractedly and placed a large volume bound in well-preserved black leather on the desk.

"This is a second edition of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ ," she said as Harry and Ron came to stand beside her.

"I never thought someone would be interested in rewriting such an evil book."

She let go of it quickly, wiping her hands into her jeans as if she dirtied her fingers by touching it.

"Voldemort perhaps?" Harry suggested without thinking, making Ron whirl around wildly.

"W- where? … Ah, don't say that name, Harry!" he said once he was sure the dark wizard was not towering behind him.

"All right. Hermione, what did you find?" Harry said, watching her search the pages.

"Actually, not much, but it's a start. Here … look."

Her neatly cut fingernail scraped the rough parchment as it moved down to a bottom of the yellowish page. "Here's a description of how unstable the Horcrux makes a human soul. You remember that, right?"

When Harry and Ron nodded at once, she took a deep breath as if willing herself to continue.

"So, what the book describes next are the limitations of its use. We all know that the Horcrux is destroyable under certain circumstances; it's not an easy task, but it is certainly feasible. For that reason, several stages of Horcrux's lesion are mentioned here. Honestly, one has to wonder how the author obtained such information...

Anyway, the book clearly states here that the moment the Horcrux shows apparent signs of a damage, it is usually beyond a point of magical repair. The critical stage is usually accompanied by characteristic bleeding and sometimes even by a vocal response to the acute trauma."

"That does not sound very optimistic," Harry said, shaking his head. "Vol- _You-Know-Who's_ Horcrux was definitely badly injured the last time I saw it. But I guess he managed to preserve it somehow."

"Fat chance," Ron whispered. "I suggest we leave the castle while we can-"

"Wait a moment. There's more to it," Hermione stopped him. "The book says that there is a hypothetical way how to heal even such a serious damage. It says that one has to perform an act of the ultimate sacrifice."

"What does it mean?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Well, since the next page is missing, I have no idea."

"What?" Harry whispered, looking down at the numbers of the pages.

Hermione was right, of course. He could even see the remnants of the missing folio in the book's backbone.

"I don't like this," Ron muttered after a brief pause which they spent inspecting the book. "I really, really don't like this."

Hermione raised her head to look at Harry.

"We can only speculate at this point."

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named found it first. He doesn't want us to know what he discovered because we would know that we are doomed. End of speculation," Ron grumbled under his breath.

"Maybe You-Know-Who really removed that page. I just don't think it was for that reason," Hermione shook her head. "A person who went as far as to create seven Horcruxes must know this book by heart. If the book provided him with the information on how to cure his Horcrux, he wouldn't have asked Harry for a help."

"Unless he wants us to fail," Ron said gravely. "That would, in my opinion, make a perfect sense-"

"He doesn't not want us to fail, Ron! A piece of his existence depends on our success!" Hermione protested.

"That's only what he wants us to think!"

"Do you still have the first edition, Hermione?" Harry interrupted them. "You know, the one you summoned from Dumbledore's office? We can compare these two and..."

"That was the first thing I did. Unfortunately, there's not a word about it in that version."

"Ultimate sacrifice," Harry whispered, shaking his head, "It's not that difficult to guess what it is, is it? My mother knew all about it and she didn't have to study any of these crazy Dark Arts books. Her decision to die instead of me shielded me from a certain death. Her protection was powerful enough to deflect a Killing Curse."

"And that's probably how it works," Hermione said softly. "Different sides of the same coin; both ends with a death of a certain person. On one hand, there is a murder, the most selfish and horrible act that splits the soul. On the other, there is a sacrifice. A selfless, noble deed that can possibly do the opposite..."

"So," Ron said slowly, "Does it mean that You-Know-Who's got to find someone willing to _die_ for his Horcrux? Pretty tough, if you ask me."

"Barty Crouch would do that. And Bellatrix as well," Harry whispered, gazing into the distance, "if she were still alive, she would definitely do that. There's no one else."

"He's got hundreds of followers, Harry," Ron complained.

"But no one is willing to die for him, Ron. They may proclaim so, but that's a lie. None of them really feel it that way. He could force them, but that would not be a sacrifice – that would be just another murder. And he's clever enough to see the difference."

"And what about us?" Hermione asked, her voice suddenly shaking. "Didn't he say that if we fail to find the cure, he will hunt down and kill every single member of the Order? Maybe he expects that some of us will … will..."

"NEVER!" Ron bellowed, but Harry quietened him by placing his hand on his shoulder.

"It's the same thing," he said. "We would do it for the Order and not for him. It would lack the desired effect completely. Voldemort's not stupid; he knows how a little incomprehension can dramatically alter the final outcome."

"But that also means that there is no possible cure for him," Ron said nervously.

"Or maybe we are looking for a solution in the wrong books," Harry sighed. "We still need to find a way how to break the curse which Bill placed upon that Horcrux. Otherwise, we will only deal with the consequences and not with the source of the problem which is the curse."

"Maybe, but don't you find it a little odd at least?" Hermione said and leaned against the desk, crossing her arms over her breast.

"The cup was never the primary target. It was Vol- You-Know-Who," she corrected herself as Ron twitched again.

"His Horcrux was merely supposed to absorb his magic and destroy his … physical form. You can see that the general idea was rather simple. If he wouldn't be around, trying to kill us, it would be much easier to deal with his Horcruxes."

Ron nodded enthusiastically, but Harry frowned. He had to wonder why such a notion bothered him so much. And it was not only because Dumbledore told him that the part of Voldemort's soul carrying his consciousness must die as the last one.

"However, it was Bellatrix who touched it first. In the end, the cup should have become even stronger by absorbing her magic and not crumble apart. Clearly, something went wrong here. It is just as Merwyn's Law of Magical Interaction states: one shall expect trouble if more than one enchantment is placed upon a single object. Also, the more powerful those enchantments are, the bigger involuntary interaction is to be expected."

"Wicked," Ron shuddered. "I honestly don't understand how You-Know-Who can expect us to solve this. I bet even Dumbledore wouldn't know what to do!"

"Magical interactions," Harry sighed, rubbing his temples furiously. "I thought that the Horcruxes are resistant to it. That's what they are supposed to do – resist the destruction and keep the creator alive. Damn, I wish I knew more about Voldemort's thoughts, but recently he's been spending a considerable amount of time and energy on keeping me out," Harry sighed and shook his head. "Whatever is going on, he doesn't want me to know."

"And for a good reason I'm sure," Ron mumbled, before slumping down in his armchair and opening another book that lay on the desk. "I can't help to think that he's playing with us like a cat plays with a mouse before devouring it. Oh, just thinking of that reminds me how really hungry I am right now. I wonder whether they are planning to starve us to death or not," he said moodily.

"Ron, stop thinking about food all the time. It's two in the morning!" Hermione sighed.

"As if I could help it!"

"They don't want to starve us," Harry intervened. "We get some food every day."

"No, Harry, no! You get some food. Just because you're willing to share with us doesn't mean that it is for us. Didn't you hear Crabbe the other day? Death to all Mudbloods and blood-traitors? I bet he learned this from his witless mistake of a father..."

"And what do you want me to say about it, Ron?" Harry raised his voice. "Must I repeat to you that you're right? Or apologize for taking you here? I know this is crazy … dangerous … and honestly, I start to think that hopeless too..."

"No, no, no!" Ron leaned forward, his face flushed. "We go wherever you go! We promised you! We won't give up that easily, right?"

Whether he was trying to amend his previous mistake or simply cared that much Harry didn't know. Still, it made him feel a bit better.

"Okay," he smiled back at his friend. "I think I'll go to see Draco and tell him that I suffer from a terrible hunger and that I will have to inform his boss about it. I'm sure he will bring us more substantial meal for the breakfast."

"I hate to say it, Harry, but you being You-Know-Who's You-Know-What has its perks," Ron chuckled. "What do you think, Hermione? … Hermione?"

"Be quiet! … Listen … Did you just hear that?" she whispered.

"Hear what?"

Harry waited with a bated breath, feeling as though a brick had slid down through his chest into his stomach. If it was Voldemort … then everything would be lost.

"Footsteps … somewhere behind the corner."

"Yeah, I can hear them too," Ron whispered nervously.

All three of them listened intently, trying to discern the faint sounds.

Harry pulled out his wand, clutching it hard.

Their assumption had been correct; it was indeed footsteps approaching them fast.

"Maybe it's Madam Pince?" Ron peeped.

Whoever it was, they were coming closer still... Harry could even hear the whispering voices...

"I think I heard them..."

"Wow … so it's true, then..."

"I can't believe my eyes..."

"Who's there?" Ron asked sharply, setting his wand alight. "Show yourselves!"

"Surprise!" someone called but Harry could not see anyone.

"Darn, I'm still invisible, right?" the same, familiar voice complained a little later.

"Obviously, Mr. Longbottom."

"Professor, could you please..."

And then, right before Harry, Ron and Hermione, six persons materialized out of thin air.

"P-professor McGonagall?" Ron stuttered out breathlessly.

"It's Dumbledore's army!" Hermione gasped out as the faces gradually came into the view. Harry could see Neville Longbottom's slightly sheepish grin, the small smile on Cho Chang's lips, the excitement in Terry Boot's and Ernie Macmillan's eyes and also Lavender Brown, who was waving at them insecurely.

Harry noticed from the corner of his eye that Hermione turned red.

And so did Ron.

He cleared his throat.

"What - what are you doing here?" he asked when his attention was inadvertently drawn back to fresh injuries on Neville's and Ernie's faces.

"Your presence here is a complete secret, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall began at length. "Therefore, the whole school knows about you. I was trying to stop these … fools from coming here and paying you a visit. Unfortunately, they seemed fully determined to see you. Rather than watching them fail and pay the retribution, I've decided to aid them a little."

"Thank you – but – seriously, you shouldn't have come! What if they caught you! You shouldn't risk this much-!"

"But we needed to be sure, Harry," Neville interrupted him. "We needed to know if it is true that you're really here. We needed to see you - and most of all, we needed to know what's going on!"

"Yeah," Ernie nodded avidly. "You're the Chosen One. Your "Undesirable No.1" posters are hanging everywhere. And yet you come here and You-Know-Who clearly knows about it and yet – nothing. It's like … I don't know what it means. We don't know what to think!"

"It's all a part of Dumbledore's plan," Harry said, looking back at his friends. "I cannot tell you any further details, only that we are working on it."

"Wow, that's so amazing!" Cho's voice faltered with excitement.

"But what about You-Know-Who?" Neville said confusedly. "How did you convince him to let you live?"

Harry nervously rubbed his hands against his jeans.

"He … he thinks I'm working for him now."

"Working on what?" Neville pressed on, becoming more and more confused.

"Stop it, Neville," Terry Boot interrupted him. "Can't you see that Harry cannot tell us? He's a double-agent now, secretly plotting against You-Know-Who while pretending the opposite. Isn't it awesome?"

Ron coughed behind Harry and his cough suspiciously sounded like 'Severus Snape'. Harry rolled his eyes. Briefly, he was tempted to turn to Ron and slug him for being childish.

"Is it what you're doing, Mr. Potter? Are you-," Professor McGonagall lowered her voice after she looked around carefully, "really a double-agent? Is that what Professor Dumbledore wanted from you?"

Harry wished he had a proper answer to such a question.

"No … not really," he sighed. "Still, this is the easiest way of finishing what must be done. And now I really think you should be going, because-"

"What about Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger?" McGonagall looked up at Harry's silent friends. "Are they working for You-Know-Who too?" she asked and her voice became more doubtful.

"No," Hermione said nervously, "Officially, we're working for Harry. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named agreed to it, otherwise, well – we wouldn't be here."

"Professor McGonagall," Harry said quietly. "I know this must look confusing, but do you believe me?"

"Of course I believe you, Mr. Potter. I am merely worried because I know you so well! Your ideas tend to bring you into serious trouble. I just hope that this is not the case."

Harry smiled forcefully. Professor McGonagall really knew him too well.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"That's what I thought. So, how can we help you?" she said, sounding more official.

"No, no - wait - before we start, I almost forgot I brought you some food!" Lavender called out suddenly, pulling out two big paper bags from beneath her cloak. "They weren't feeding you much, were they?"

"Ooohhh," Ron groaned, extending his arms towards it eagerly. "I love you sooo much! Oh – eh, no, I don't!" he said quickly before Hermione could open her mouth. "All I meant is - thank you. Thank you, Lavender. That's markedly attentive of you."

"You're welcome, Won-Won," she twittered, batting her long eyelashes at him flirtatiously.

"I didn't do anything," Ron muttered after he took the offered bags and turned back to Hermione, who was giving him a look.

"Do you want some?" he asked her, pulling out some pretzels.

"I'm not hungry!" Hermione snapped and walked away with her head held high.

"I didn't do anything," Ron muttered again, this time with his mouth already full. He turned to Harry then as if asking for support. "Right?"

Harry just shrugged, turning back to Professor McGonagall.

"Professor, you should seriously rethink becoming involved in this."

"We are all overage here, Potter, if that is what's bothering you."

"No – I...," he paused.

Suddenly, Harry became aware that something was wrong. He felt strange. Very strange.

"I cannot guarantee your safety...," he tried again, but the feeling of something stirring inside him, something hot and urgent, refused to leave him. On the contrary, it was becoming more insistent and overwhelming. Yet, he couldn't describe it as an unpleasant thing; quite the opposite, actually. The radiating warmth seeped from his bones and spread through his muscles before coiling inside his abdomen, bright and intense, making his heart race faster and faster...

Harry was puzzled. He took a deep, stuttering breath, trying hard to suppress this lowest instinct which chose the most improper moment to bother him.

It did not seem to work very well.

"Harry?" Ron stopped chewing on his pretzels. "Are you all right, mate?"

"Mr. Potter … you're sweating!" McGonagall said with a frown. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"I-," Harry gulped heavily. "I'm fine. I just need to sit down and … hah."

Harry's knees gave out and he sank onto the floor. His whole body curled up as the wave of sheer delight washed over him. His hand shot to his scar that was pulsing happily while Harry inwardly screamed.

He knew now what was happening. Voldemort's Occlumency was slipping for a very obvious reason. And now he could even see the flashes of … oh … no! A white hand moving leisurely over his … _ah!_

"Harry!" Ron shouted into his face. "What's wrong with you?"

"Ah … alone," Harry croaked desperately. "Leave me … please… alone!"

"Potter...," Professor McGonagall said unsteadily, "Breathe!"

"Must be a result of some dark magic. He's having seizures," Terry Boot said sympathetically and came to kneel beside Ron regardless Harry's growing despair.

Unbeknownst to them, hot shame already burned down Harry's spine, both from the noises he was barely containing and the fact that he was in front his friends.

"Go!" he groaned, gritting his teeth, his fingernails scraping the floor desperately. "Ah ... go away!"

They left him a moment later, but Harry was barely aware of it since the pleasure coursing through his body already reached its peak, making him gasp and shiver.

His head dropped to the floor, then; a sweaty mess of black hair spilling like a crown around him. His oxygen-deprived lungs were still greedy for an air and he resupplied them greedily.

Eventually, the hazy fog that clouded his mind receded, allowing him to fully realize the situation. Immediately, he wished he could deny it – he could not have done this in front of his friends with Lord Voldemort inside his head.

There was no way he would ever reach that level of perversion.

"Harry … are you feeling better?" Hermione's troubled voice came to him from somewhere above.

Harry didn't answer. He certainly did not feel any better. He was sweaty, dirty and upset.

"Was it You-Know-Who?" Ron asked in a barely audible whisper. "Did he send you some vision?"

Harry nodded imperceptibly, prolonging the moment he needed to recollect himself.

"I'm fine," he said at last, sitting up and wiping his face into a hem of his shirt.

Harry looked up to see his friends coming to him and kneeling beside him. He could read the deep concern within their eyes.

"I'm really fine – I just don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"It was You-Know-Who," Ron concluded and Harry did not find the energy to protest.

"Where's everyone else?" he asked instead and scrambled back to his feet.

"Well, we convinced Professor McGonagall that you'll be fine – she wanted to take you to the hospital wing."

"That was wise," Harry nodded.

"And the rest wanted to be useful so Hermione told them to search the books for us. Don't worry – they're only after innocent entries such as soul magic, Egyptian curses and such. Horcruxes and other dangerous stuff is still our job. Oh, and Terry went to check on Draco. We must be sure he's still under the influence of the Sleeping Draught."

Harry nodded again and turned away from them to furtively clean himself.

"And what did they say about this – this incident?" he asked quietly when he was done.

"I explained to them that you were held in You-Know-Who's captivity for some time. They seem to understand," Hermione said hesitantly. Harry turned to look at her and noticed that she was purposely keeping a considerable distance from Ron.

"Okay," he said blandly.

"It was a bit unusual this time, wasn't it?" Ron noted. "I mean – your vision. It almost looked like … you were enjoying it."

Harry was downright mortified.

"Please, don't ask," he whispered.

"Anyway," Ron continued offhandedly, dropping the topic quickly, "Neville mentioned something about a big event taking place in the Great Hall tomorrow. Some kind of a contest or a duel which should give the final evidence on the superiority of purebloods or similar nonsense. No one really knows what to expect. It's obligatory to attend, of course. Didn't you see something about it in his … eh … head?"

Harry could not react; his breath died within his windpipe.

"Harry – is something wrong again?"

"W-what did you say?" he gasped at last, horrified.

"You know what's going on, Harry?" Hermione asked.

That was too much. Harry could not handle any more.

"Yes, in fact, I do. Ron, you were right. We must leave Hogwarts immediately."

"What?"

"Harry," Hermione hissed. "What is it? Why didn't you say anything?-!"

"Because I made a terrible mistake, okay?" Harry snapped, pointing at her. "And I don't want you to pay for it!"

"Me?" she whispered, taken aback.

"What did you do?-!" Ron cried out.

"I-," Harry fisted his hair desperately. "Do you remember the first day when we came here? If you recall, Voldemort wanted to talk to me."

"Of course!"

"We had an argument about Muggle-borns and purebloods. And I kind of made a bet with him that Hermione can beat any Slytherin student he chooses. And that's it. I don't know what possessed me back then – I'm sorry!"

"Well – it's true!" Ron spluttered. "I would make the same bet right away … but certainly not with You-Know-Who."

"I know it's true, but Slytherins are no longer the same kids they used to be a year ago. They learned plenty about dark magic and they won't hesitate to use it!" Harry protested.

"We learned a lot as well, Harry," Hermione countered.

"Right, but..."

"And I spent this week in Hogwarts library..."

"Hermione," Harry said quietly. "Are you implying that you want to … participate?"

"And prove them that I am not a vermin that deserves to be tortured first?" she snapped, her usually kind eyes flaring as her fingers mindlessly slid to the scar on her throat. "You _bet_ that I want to participate!"

"But I'm sure You-Know-Who's been training his students for days! He will tolerate no failure!"

"And?" she said disinterestedly.

"I could never forgive myself if something happened to you," Harry said gravely, each of his words heavy enough to equal the oppressive weight in his chest.

"Hermione...," Ron uttered pleadingly. "Don't do that!"

She stifled his protest with her almighty glare.

Then she turned to Harry, calm and resolute.

"As much as I like you, Harry," she said, unwavering, "I won't be doing it for you. I will be doing it for all the Muggle-borns who suffered because of Voldemort's new regime! To be honest, I cannot wait!"


	15. The Duel

xxxxx

The next morning Harry woke up late. He sat up on his makeshift bed, rubbing sleepiness from his eyes. Then he turned to Hermione, who neatly slid into a small armchair by a table, her nose stuck in yet another book.

"Good morning, Harry," she said, flipping the page.

Harry scratched his cheek, feeling the budding stubble under his fingertips. There was hardly anything good about it, he thought privately. His stomach was rumbling and his head hurt.

"Mornin'," he croaked nevertheless as he put on his glasses clumsily.

The reading room that currently served as their provisional dwelling was dim and silent. There, on the table by which Hermione was seated, waited his breakfast and a new portion of 'an obligatory reading'.

Harry stretched his back, put on his shoes and combed his unruly black hair with his fingers. He felt how it reared back again to its usual tousled state, proving his effort futile. His hair had always been difficult to style but lately it turned to be almost uncontrollable. Perhaps, it was a result of his self-neglect from the last few days...

Trying not to smell his T-shirt too much, Harry came to sit by the table, taking a bite into a toast that was left on a plate.

"Have you seen Ron this morning?" he began conversationally while buttering his bread.

"Nope. I'm not his nurse," Hermione answered curtly with her eyes still glued to the page.

Harry said nothing. It was obvious that Hermione was still upset about the yesterday and he did not want to make it worse by advocating for Ron.

He took a sip of cool tea.

"Hermione, if you've changed your mind about...," he began.

"No, I haven't," she said resolutely.

"You don't even know what I wanted to say!"

"You wanted to know if I have changed my mind about the tournament, which will take place in the Great Hall today. My answer is no."

There was a brief pause in which Harry took another bite.

"I won't try to convince you not to attend any more," he said afterwards. "I do, if fact, understand your eagerness to fight."

"But you cannot cope with the helplessness you feel, right?" she said and finally gave him a long look. "You'd prefer to face the adversary yourself."

When Harry nodded, she leaned over the table and placed her hand over his, patting it lightly before retracting.

"At least you can finally understand how we … well, how I and that red-headed moron … feel about you all the time."

"It's not the same, Hermione! I don't remember a single occasion when it was your fault that I got into trouble!"

"I remember a few..."

"I mean serious trouble!"

"What about Gordic's Hollow?" she suggested.

"That was my idea as well!" he snapped.

She sighed, pushed her wavy locks behind her ear and leaned towards Harry again.

"I doubt I will be in mortal danger, Harry. As long as we are trying to find a cure for You-Know-Who's Horcrux, I cannot imagine him thinking about killing us. He would be digging his own grave, wouldn't he?"

Since there was not much Harry could say against that logic, he nodded stiffly and ate the last mouthful of his toast.

"I want you to read this story," Hermione said suddenly, pushing the book she was reading towards him. "I've been looking for references about Horcruxes and though I found some, they were mostly unhelpful. But this … I think this is rather accurate."

Harry blinked a few times and pushed his glasses further up his nose.

"Isn't it...?" he began, taking the book and turning it from side to side, "Isn't it the book Dumbledore left you in his last testament?"

"The Tales of Beedle the Bard? Yes, you're right. I've decided to re-read it."

"But I thought that you do not approve the quest for the Deathly Hallows."

"I don't. This story is not about the Hallows, though. Just read it."

Harry glanced at the title, which she was pointing at.

"The Warlock's Hairy Heart? Sounds funny."

"It does, doesn't it?" she said and sighed again."You will probably change your mind soon, though."

Harry tore his eyes off her and looked down again. It was a short tale; he read it fast and finished it a couple of minutes later, frowning slightly.

"Is this tale, by any chance, about … Voldemort?" he asked quietly.

"I, for one, don't think that he has hidden his heart in a crystal casket," Hermione said.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head avidly. "Besides, Beedle wrote this story centuries ago, so no, it's not specifically about him. But I know what you're referring to. It is an allegory. This tale is about creating a Horcrux … and its consequences."

Harry's eyes returned to the last lines.

"So," he summarized, "the warlock cut out the maiden's heart in order to replace it for his own, hairy one. He failed in the attempt for his savage heart was stronger than him and so he rather killed himself. You didn't want me to read this because you think I am that maiden, Hermione, did you?"

She rolled her eyes, taking the book from him.

"An allegory, Harry! Do you know what it is?" she snapped. "But other than that, yes, it's almost like you and You-Know-Who. You with your unblemished soul while he … well, he's barely a human, isn't he? And the more you two interact… Harry, just think about it! What if you made him realize what he lost? What if he wanted it back somehow? My point is: don't worry about me; I want you to worry about yourself."

"All right," Harry rolled his eyes. "I won't let him cut out my heart, that's a promise."

"Don't make fun of this!" she hissed, crossing her arms over her breast. "I'm serious!"

"Yes, you're serious and a little paranoid, Hermione. Can't you see that Voldemort's happy the way he is? I don't think he's going to amend his views and opinions any time soon. Nothing has changed even after we … eh, anyway, I doubt I can do anything about it so...," Harry paused, blushing slightly. He could see that Hermione noticed it as well.

"Happy?" she said. "You think he's happy? Does a person who reached such a state of mental deterioration even know what it means?"

Harry bit his lower lip hard. He had to agree with Hermione on this one. Voldemort, in his opinion, did not know what the true happiness was any more; actually, it was more likely that he never experienced it.

"Moreover, I'm his Horcrux, right?" he continued bitterly. "I'm that nasty, shrivelled piece of a heart you're talking about."

"Nonsense. If anything, I'm certain that his soul does not suffer inside you … at least compared to the rest," Hermione said solemnly.

"Who knows?" Harry whispered.

"You do, don't you?"

The scar on Harry's forehead suddenly began to throb in the rhythm that was not in match with his own heartbeat. Harry resisted the urge to scratch it.

"Well, I..."

A thunderous sound of footsteps pounding towards them interrupted Harry's thoughts. He leaped to his feet and pulled out his wand. Just a second later, Ron burst into the reading room, barely catching his breath.

"They're coming! They're coming! Hermione … please!"

"The Death Eaters," Harry said quietly and his stomach plummeted.

"Yes!" Ron's voice faltered, his eyes pleading Hermione to run away (with him).

"Good," she whispered. That was apparently all she was going to say to Ron's chagrin. She got up calmly, smoothed out her shirt before turning to Harry again.

"Just think about what we discussed," she added then.

Before Harry could reply a lumpy-looking man and a stocky little woman in long dark coats emerged from behind a corner, coming towards them.

Harry raised his wand; he remembered them right away. It was the Carrows. They had been at the Astronomical Tower when Dumbledore died. They regularly tortured the students, who disobeyed the new school rules as Neville told them yesterday. Harry's hatred surged up the moment he spotted them.

The feeling proved to be highly mutual.

"Oh, my! If it isn't The-Boy-Who-So-Persistently-Refuses-To-Die," the man sneered at him. "You and that disgusting filth," he cocked his head towards Hermione and Ron, "are expected in the Great Hall."

"How did you call us?" Ron snarled, gripping his wand very tightly.

"With the most appropriate term possible, blood traitor. How else?" the man's sister, Alecto, jeered.

"Oh, really?" Harry said coldly before Ron could explode. "We will see who's the filth here!"

"Indeed," the woman tittered, rapping her wand against her palm. Then she spun on her heel and marched outside, followed by her brother.

Harry turned to his friends.

"Did you hear them?" Ron seethed, red to the point that his freckles disappeared. "Did you hear those … slimy gah! All right, Hermione, show them! Show those conceited, toady Slytherins how amazing you are!"

Hermione looked at him for the first time since their quarrel. She said nothing, yet her long gaze definitely had a heartening effect upon Ron. Harry could tell from the way Ron's shoulders sagged with relief.

Briefly, he wished he could feel better as well. As Hermione had said, he was not used to stand behind while the others had to fight. Watching Hermione duel whichever Slytherin student Voldemort picked could prove to be more difficult than he first thought. To stay calm in such a situation would require a completely different kind of strength from him. Harry was not sure he possessed it.

Not that he had any choice about it either.

They followed the Carrows wordlessly and all too soon they descended the massive staircase leading towards the opened double doors, the entrance to the Great Hall. It was a strange feeling to be back after so many months… Harry was no longer the same boy who left this school a year ago.

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was enshrouded in low clouds. Soft drizzle was falling out of that thick cover, melting into nothingness just above the heads of the students that were lined up by the tables. There was a wide gap between the most pretentious Slytherin table and the rest. It spread across the room, ending right at the High Table on the other side.

A pitiful display of snobbery, Harry thought and slowed down his steps, knowing that Hermione and Ron were right behind him. Every head turned towards them; everyone was watching them intently, breathlessly, hopefully, excitedly, confusedly and some of them also malevolently. Harry could see several Slytherins spit on the floor as they passed them. He ignored it with solemnity he did not feel. It was much easier to look at the eagerly whispering students from the other Houses and at the members of the D.A., who were waving at them surreptitiously, showing their support.

By the time they had reached the end of the Gryffindor table, the knot in Harry's stomach loosened a little. Voldemort was not there yet. He could only see the teachers behind the High Table. It did not pass his notice though, that Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout were both several shades paler than usual. Hagrid was missing. Harry suspected that Voldemort had no interest in killing him, nevertheless he also did not want him to teach at Hogwarts. It was either Draco or some other aspiring Death Eater who had a hand in sacking him. Harry's eyes slid to Professor Slughorn then, the Head of Slytherin House, who seemed to be quite keen on making himself invisible without using his wand. He seemed to experience certain troubles with that, especially when it came to his rather massive belly.

Harry skipped the Carrows to look at Snape. Still reminding him of a sulky bat, the current Headmaster was towering behind the table right in the place where Dumbledore used to stand. His eyes were black, cold, flickering all over the place from beneath a curtain of greasy hair, before finding Harry and pinning him to the floor with the ferocity of his gaze. There were no acid sneers, no demeaning insults. Harry found it unnerving.

The silence stretched minute after minute, testing the limits of Harry's inward resilience.

Finally, when it had become nearly insufferable for all parties concerned, a group of six Death Eaters appeared at the entrance door. Hidden under their masks and coats, they marched down the Hall towards the High Table. After reaching their destination, they slipped behind the Slytherin table and came to stand still with their backs facing the wall. Silence prevailed again. The Hall was now filled with quiet so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.

Then, suddenly, a series of sharp, frightened gasps announced the last newcomer. There was no doubt about who it was.

Tall, gaunt, pale and deadly… Nearly every student fidgeted and tried to back away from him but sadly that was not an option. The students had to remain in their places if they wanted to avoid punishment. Stressful as it was, it did not surprise Harry to see some of them, especially the younger ones, on the verge of tears. The least Harry could do for them was to keep his attitude; he proudly held his stance and so did his friends and members of the D.A., who merely regrouped behind his back.

Lord Voldemort strode down the Hall, seemingly disinterested in the terror he inflicted. Yet, it was only a matter of time until the crowd psychosis affected even the most trained individuals.

"We … we shouldn't have come here … we shouldn't be here," Ron muttered in a choked voice from behind Harry.

It was the moment when Harry understood Voldemort's tactics.

"Stop it," he said and turned to his friends. "Guys … you must stop it right now. Don't you see that this is exactly what he wants?"

A dozen pairs of hopeful eyes turned to him. Harry did not know why the importance of that moment struck him so hard.

"Hermione," he said in his calmest voice, watching her relieve a panicking clutch on Ron's elbow. "Don't look at him if it bothers you so much. Remember, he won't be your opponent. He just wants to scare you out of your wit. He's using these pitiful tricks to secure his victory, because what he really fears is that you can win this tournament hands down!"

Hermione briefly pressed her trembling lips together and then she nodded a little. Her face became more concentrated and so did the faces of the others. Harry released the breath he was holding and turned back right in the moment when Voldemort was passing him. Their eyes met for a second and Harry's heart made a violent flip behind his breastbone. Nearly losing his composure, he glanced away, cursing under his breath.

It seriously started to piss Harry off. He looked back and watched Voldemort walk on, sullen and wondering why he still had to react to him in this way. He probably felt drawn to him only because he was his Horcrux. Voldemort could be using their connection to manipulate with his feelings and it was Harry's weakness that he could not resist it properly. He felt so silly when he remembered himself thinking that he could use it the other way around. As if he could ever mess with Voldemort's mind - as if he could ever influence it!

Feeling resentful, Harry scratched his itchy scar furiously; more than ever he wished he could cut it out and smack it right between Voldemort's eyes where, in his opinion, it rightfully belonged.

"Severus."

The icy word cut through Harry's thoughts, making him look up at the Headmaster.

Voldemort was standing in front of the High Table.

"My Lord."

Snape gave a curt nod before he turned to address the Slytherin table.

"The seventh year Slytherin students will step forward. Now," he said in a low voice.

As if awaiting that command, nearly two dozen of students standing opposite to the Gryffindor table followed that order wordlessly. Harry's eyes instinctively found the youngest Death Eater among them for he anticipated Voldemort to choose him for the task. Draco Malfoy's complexion turned Slytherin's favourite colour: green. Also, the young aristocrat failed to take as long step as his old 'comrades' Crabbe and Goyle and that made him less prominent between their much larger bodies. Harry was certain it was not a coincidence.

"Harry Potter," the high, clear voice suddenly stabbed Harry like a dagger.

He failed to conceal a violent jerk.

"Where are you hiding your Mudblood? Or has she decided to flee after all?"

Voldemort was approaching him slowly, his thin lips unsmiling contrary to the laughter coming from the Slytherin table and the Death Eaters standing behind it.

Harry licked his dry lips.

"She's...," he began, but Hermione interrupted him.

She stepped forward to take place by Harry's side.

"I am here."

The gleaming red eyes fastened upon her, instantly disappointed. His reaction confirmed Harry's surmise; Voldemort counted on upsetting her to the point where she would not be able to remember her name let alone some useful spell.

Harry felt so proud of Hermione in that moment that he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.

"Hermione's here," he smiled proudly.

The Dark Lord remained silent. He gazed at Harry, then he glanced down at Hermione, before looking back at Harry fast as if he was afraid of becoming infected if he stared at her for too long.

Harry could see the silent question in those red eyes and he felt solely tempted to confirm Voldemort's misleading conviction. What a perfect retaliation for the yesterday's incident would that be ... if Harry weren't too worried that the Dark Lord might turn his wrath on Hermione. Deciding that it was not worth the risk, he dropped his hand from her shoulder, making sure that the gesture was not overlooked.

The taut, twitching jaw slowly relaxed and the pearly white snake-like face regained its previous ill-tempered expression.

"I suppose," he began quietly, speaking to Hermione now, "that you're familiar with this wand."

In a manner of a wizard pulling a rabbit out of the hat he extracted Hermione's old wand from within his long black sleeve.

Harry cast a quick side-glance at her; as expected, Voldemort just hit her weak point. She looked positively faint.

"If you win it back, then it's truly yours. If not, you don't deserve to have one. Now step forward and show your proclaimed skills in a duel with a worthy student of Hogwarts, a student of the noble House of Salazar Slytherin!"

Voldemort spun around, facing the seventh years at the opposite table.

"Who wants to fight the Mudblood and prove our superiority in front of the eyes of the new generation of wizards and witches? Who is up to this task?"

As if it was another obligation, all of the oldest Slytherin students took another step forward.

There was one exception, though. Draco Malfoy remained where he stood, silently staring at his feet.

"Well, well," Voldemort whispered, strolling towards them and then walking along the line they formed. "I am pleased to see so many eager young duellists here... Aren't you too … Draco?"

He stopped right in front of him, turning his heartless eyes at the shivering heir of Malfoy's fortune.

"Draco!"

Harry looked around, trying to identify the voice that whispered that name so urgently.

"Draco, step forward!"

"Lucius Malfoy," Ron said under his breath and Harry nodded. Now he recognized him too. He stood among the masked Death Eaters.

But Harry's attention soon returned to Voldemort. He was worried about the decision Draco had to make.

"Never mind," Voldemort said scornfully a few seconds later, when Draco failed to respond. "What a disappointment to see the boy, who so eagerly agreed to kill Dumbledore, shaking in fear when challenged by a Mudblood. I admit, I haven't expected this…"

The roar of laughter that erupted from Slytherin table was unheard by Harry. Voldemort was never really joking and those kids did not understand what was going on. They did not understand the gravity of the situation.

"My Lord," Vincent Crabbe stepped forward when the overall mirth quietened a little. He dropped to his knees, bowing obsequiously. "My Lord, I volunteer myself for this task. I'll do anything to prove the worth of the purebloods."

Voldemort contemplated it, grazing his thin, long finger over his colourless lips.

"Get up," he said then and Crabbe scrambled to his feet, his face shining with pride.

"Perhaps it is time for your family to get another chance..."

At that moment another masked Death Eater took a step closer to the Slytherin table.

"Thank you, my Lord. Thank you for this precious chance! I assure you that my son won't waste it..."

"That will do!"

The man stopped in a mid bow, waiting while he was observed critically. "We will see about that," Voldemort said then before turning his attention back to Crabbe junior.

"I need brave fighters like you in my ranks. I am not interested in those who need to hide behind their mother's skirt. If you win, you will become much more respectable replacement of Draco Malfoy's weak stomach and cowardice. If not, however, your family name will be put to shame … forever."

Harry and Ron looked at each other and their eyes shared the ultimate meaning behind that proclamation. If Hermione lost, Draco Malfoy would die. Voldemort did not just sack his Death Eaters: and if he did, the next job they got was somewhere in the afterlife.

Draco, who understood it as well, dropped to his knees and hid his face in his palms.

Harry could swear he heard his choked sobbing and it made him sick. He did not want to be a part of this. He did not want to cause this. This needed to stop immediately.

"I won't disappoint you, my Lord," Crabbe said eagerly, bowing once again.

"Good," Voldemort said. "Take this wand. I want you to defeat her with this wand."

Keeping his palm against his pulsing forehead, Harry watched how Voldemort handed Hermione's old wand to Crabbe, who kept bending his spine in front of him over and over like some pathetic marionette.

Hermione was, in comparison to Crabbe, a picture of independence and determination.

She stood a few steps ahead of Harry, still wonderfully calm, her new wand at ready, her lips moving fast as if she was silently revising for N.E.W.T. exams.

"It is settled then; let's begin," Voldemort spoke up, retreating to the High Table.

"Wait!" Harry cried out at the top of his lungs. "What about the Rules!"

The bright red eyes found Harry's instantly.

"What rules, Potter?" he said icily, his high voice resonating within the walls, creating a strange echo. "This duel will have a definite winner. No rules are necessary."

"But-!" Harry and Ron yelped simultaneously.

"I shall say this only once," Voldemort spoke in a dangerous voice. "If you interfere, I will kill her."

Harry took a step back.

The weight he had been carrying on his shoulders during the past week finally began to crush him – that was the thing that frightened him the most, the thing that kept crawling into his subconscious at night, the thing that was worse than all his nightmares together. It was the thing he hoped Hermione dispelled for good with her bulletproof logic.

"No," he said helplessly. "You wouldn't dare … you wouldn't...!"

"Harry."

It was Hermione, who intervened. She looked into Harry's eyes and shook her head.

"Don't," she whispered. "I'll be fine."

"I wouldn't dare, Potter?" Voldemort breathed, his face oddly expressionless.

Harry blinked fast to soothe his own burning eyes. He felt a movement behind himself and he looked back, seeing Neville and Ron pull out their wands.

"No," he whispered, making a quick decision. "Hermione's right. Don't give him a reason. Not yet."

When they nodded in agreement, Harry turned back. The renewed sight of the Dark Lord left a bitter aftertaste on his palate.

His scar seared.

"I merely wanted to stop Hermione from turning Crabbe into a mug of protoplasm. But, whatever, I won't bother to save him then!" he said aloud.

This time, however, to Voldemort's displeasure, the sniggers came from students on Harry's side.

"Good one, mate," Ron muttered. "Crazy but good nevertheless."

"I hope so," Harry whispered.

Voldemort waved his wand and both Hermione and Crabbe were suddenly enclosed in a huge glass-like half sphere.

"Wait - what's that?!" Ron's tone instantly changed to a frightened whine. He ran towards the glass cage and slammed his fists against it.

"I'm fine!" Hermione hissed as she turned to them, her voice coming out oddly muffled.

Then she looked back at Crabbe, whose face was shining with malicious glee.

"So, Mudblood, are you ready to be fried?" he sniggered.

Hermione did not deign it worth a reply. She raised her wand, her face even and focused.

"It's time. Begin!" Voldemort spoke up and that was the moment Crabbe was waiting for.

"Avada Kedavra!" he yelled immediately and slashed his wand in Hermione's direction.

"HERMIONE!" Ron bellowed and his palms collided with the unyielding glass again.

Hermione dodged the curse by centimeters.

Harry felt like choking on his own heart.

The flash of green light hit the glass wall instead, shattering it to pieces in the place of the impact. The scrap glass jingled against the marble floor, casting colourful reflections.

"That shitty scum used the Killing Curse!" Ron raved, pulling out his wand. Harry quickly caught his hand and pushed it down.

"Look," he breathed instead.

Hermione, in the meantime, flicked her wand and the jingling sound of the glass changed into a menacing buzz. The splinters rose to the air, grew wings and changed their colour to yellow and black.

And then attacked.

"Yes!" Harry, Ron and others yelped in unison as they saw Crabbe recede fast, waving his arms pathetically to shield himself.

"Crucio! Crucio!" Crabbe screamed, sending two wasps flying in drunken circles while the rest continued to assault him with growing ferocity.

More and more students began to cheer Hermione on.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Another wasp dropped to the floor.

"Incendio!"

The flames burst out of Crabbe's wand and the swarm almost instantly vaporized.

For a moment Crabbe stood with his back bend, breathing fast; his face was already swelling badly. The forming lump reminded Harry the effects of the Stinging Jinx. Soon enough Crabbe would not be able to see anything. The cheers grew on intensity; every Gryffindor student was calling out Hermione's name now and some of the others began to join them as well. The Slytherins, on the other hand, did not try to hide their vexation.

"Kill her! Do it now or never come to my eyes again!"

Harry caught those words over the growing tumult and he could see Crabbe turning to his father, his swollen face deflating in terror.

Harry's eyes then jumped to Voldemort, who, curiously enough, was watching Crabbe senior as well.

The moment was lost when Crabbe raised his wand again.

"Crucio!"

This time Hermione was not fast enough.

She fell to the ground and screamed, making the Slytherins erupt in a laughter.

"HERMIONE!" Ron screamed, raising his wand again to break through the glass wall.

"RON – NO!" Harry caught Ron's hands at the very last moment, fighting with him. "He'll kill her! Remember, if you do it, he'll kill her!"

"Harry! Let me-!"

"Good-bye, Mudblood … Ava-", Crabbe began, but Hermione turned to him fast and regardless of her pain she flicked her wand again.

Crabbe goggled his eyes. He tried to speak, but his tongue was … glued to his palate.

"It's a Langlock jinx!" Harry gasped in surprise. "It's the Prince's jinx! I never thought Hermione would use it!"

"She's amazing!" Ron cried out, as he caught up with the sudden turn of events. Hermione pushed herself to her knees, using Crabbe's distraction to wave her wand again.

Crabbe's ears prolonged instantly. They grew on and on until they were at least ten inches long. They also turned grey as a soft fur covered them. Next followed Crabbe's nose; it was stretching out fast and so were his neck and limbs.

"What is this?!" he yelled, as Hermione lowered her wand, releasing his tied tongue. "What is … wha … whee … whee-haw! Hee-haw!"

As his hooves clapped on the floor, Hermione's old wand clattered beside them innocently.

The three Houses erupted with cheers and yells: everyone seemed to forget Voldemort's presence for this very moment. Harry was awe-struck. Hermione won! And so easily! Now she even summoned her old wand and raised it above her head.

The Crabbe-turned-donkey released a few more whooping sounds and started galloping around the glassy prison, apparently panic-stricken by the booming noise.

Harry did not know how many friends he hugged or how many people hugged him; his head was buzzing with happiness as if Hermione's swarm moved inside him and brought him back to life. It was an incredible feeling.

And Ron's happy chant was making it even better.

"You are amazing! I love you, Hermione! I love you and you only!"

Harry was still speechless. Hermione won this tournament within a few minutes and without having to say a single spell aloud. An Auror would not do it better!

Realizing that, Harry looked back at Voldemort and his mirth began to ebb away.

Voldemort was clearly not impressed.

The Death Eaters sensed his mood and tried to melt away into shadows. The Slytherin table was silent and grim. The teachers by the High Table were desperately trying to procure the order; even Snape looked nervous. Harry did not know something like that was even possible.

"Enough!" Voldemort's icy cold voice chimed through the room, extinguishing the revelry in the way a bucket of water can put out a fire.

The glass sphere exploded, forming billions of brilliant shreds that rose in the air and dissolved into mist.

Harry rushed forward to Hermione, giving her a long hug. Ron did the same, only he took her in his arms and refused to let go.

The quiet returned with a full force. The only sounds in the Great Hall were made by one desperate donkey trying to crawl under the Slytherin table.

Voldemort stepped down into the wide aisle between the Slytherin and the Gryffindor table and set forward to Harry, his expression unreadable.

"Get behind me," Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione and quickly raised his hand when Neville and Seamus wanted to join them. "No," he shook his head.

"My Lord! I beg … I beg your forgiveness...!"

Voldemort, who was just in the midway towards Harry, Ron and Hermione, stopped when Crabbe senior ran forward and fell to his knees before him.

"So, did your son win, Crabbe?" he asked softly as he looked at the man by his feet. "Did he prove the superiority of the purebloods?"

Crabbe raised his head, shaking it vigorously. "He's no longer my son, master! I have nothing in common with that filth any more! Punish him as you wish."

"Did you hear that freaky bastard?!" Ron gasped exasperatedly.

"How could he say something like that about his own child?" Hermione whispered throatily, burying her face into Ron's shoulder.

But Harry did not listen. A fury of previously unknown proportions flared up in Voldemort and Harry could barely fight it.

"He … doesn't like it," he breathed, biting into his knuckles to stop himself from scraping his scar to blood.

"What did you say?" Voldemort whispered threateningly, his red eyes burning holes into his servant's back. "Repeat it."

"My Lord?" Crabbe senior raised his head again, confused. "He failed you, master. I renounced him. I don't have a son any more."

"Failed me... No, I cannot say I expected any better of him. I know his limits as I know Gregory Goyle's or Draco Malfoy's. Your son could only pleasantly surprise me. It is you, however, who disappointed me greatly. I don't care what you think of your own child, but calling a pureblood devoted to our purpose a filth? What does it say about you? What does it say about your priorities? I reckon it says a lot, Crabbe … a lot indeed."

Though Voldemort's voice remained soft and smooth, Harry could feel the rage the Dark Lord was feeling when talking to him. And he could not miss him thinking of his own father … renouncing him even before he was born...

"M … master? I … I thought that … you would approve..."

Voldemort waved his wand, summoning the donkey from beneath the table. With another flick of the Elder Wand Crabbe junior was back in his human form, though still swollen and crying.

"I shall thank the Mudblood for giving me a final proof that you're as pathetic as I always thought. You don't mind changing your loyalties as you see it fit. I have no place for someone like you in my ranks. And when it comes to this … neither for your son."

"My Lord, no … please … no! Mercy! My Lord, I am your most faithful! I..."

"Avada Kedavra!"

The Death Eater's body dropped to the floor, his eyes empty and unseeing behind the mask.

Vincent Crabbe shuddered, but he remained sitting on the floor beside his dead father, sobbing, rocking back and forth ceaselessly. Voldemort did not look at him again.

His red eyes turned back to Harry.

The silence was beyond deaf. It was beyond dense. It was overwhelming.

Harry's forehead still pulsed painfully. His mind was blank as if all his thoughts were obliterated by what he just witnessed.

And Voldemort was coming closer and closer still.

Too close now.

Harry tried to recuperate and raised his chin to look him in the face.

But he could not expect or possibly prepare himself for what happened next.

The spidery fingers caught his hair, pulled hard -

"No! Don't touch him!" Ron yelled. "Harry, do somethi … oh."

\- and Voldemort descended to Harry's lips, crushing them against his own.

...

At first there was nothing, just pure shock.

Then, Harry did not know why he recalled his first kiss with such blazing clarity. Perhaps it was because his first kiss was just as nerve wrecking experience...

On the other hand, describing this only as a 'nerve wrecking' experience would totally not do justice to Harry's current state of mind. All his higher mental activity had ceased completely, stamped out by that violent snog. Harry could only perceive how cold and forceful it was. The lips that were pressed against his own were not exactly demanding and neither particularly eager. Punishing would be the best description if Harry was allowed this consideration. But as the seconds ticked off, one after another, the chilly mouth began to melt against his like an ice cube on a frying pan. The hand that had been clutching his hair so painfully released its hold and moved around a little as if basking in the warmth of Harry's mane...

"Harry...," Ron whispered throatily somewhere behind him and Harry's senses returned to him at once.

He raised his hands to Voldemort's shoulders and pushed him away hard and at the same time he took a step back.

Voldemort turned his head away instantly, closed his eyes for the tiniest moment and then he looked back at Harry, slipping into his cold, detached demeanour.

"What's wrong with your face, Potter?" he said softly, his voice breaking through everyone's consternation. "Didn't you like it? How surprising … I thought this was exactly what you wanted from me."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but there was something large stuck in his throat. All he managed to do was draw in a wheezy breath.

"Ah, that's right," Voldemort then spoke to the stunned audience, smiling mirthlessly. "Harry Potter requested a kiss from Lord Voldemort. As you can see, the Chosen One you believed in so much is a mere slut keen on crawling into Lord Voldemort's bed in order to escape his inevitable demise!"

Harry staggered. This shock was much worse than the previous one. It was just too much for him to handle.

"Isn't it true, Harry Potter?" Voldemort whispered, turning back to Harry. "Come on, boy, say something. Try to deny it. Show your friends what your face looks like when you lie!"

Never before Harry felt such a sheer desire to hurt someone. He wanted to open his mouth and scream at him so loudly that it would tear his throat apart. He wanted to throw all dirty laundry at Voldemort, he wanted to tell them all how the mighty Dark Lord needed to get drunk as a sailor just to get laid, he wanted to mock his virginity or whatever was the reason behind his unrefined skills, he wanted to hurt him just as badly...

And then they would all die … like the goblins of Gringotts.

Harry looked away and his eyes met Snape's. The Headmaster's face was white and waxy, his lips tightly pressed together. And then he shook his head. Slightly, almost imperceptibly, but still Harry got the message. He closed his eyes, slowly pulling himself back together. Then he raised his hand and wiped off the saliva that still lingered on his lips.

Finally, he looked up again and straightened his back.

Voldemort was waiting.

Everyone else was waiting too, wide-eyed and disbelieving.

"There is only one thing I have to say about that," Harry said quietly. "You call yourself Lord Voldemort, but you are not noble in any meaning of that word. If anything, a nobleman would be able to accept his defeat with dignity."

Harry shook his head. For some silly, inexplicable reason he wanted to cry.

He felt that he lost something precious. Worse, he had to remain Voldemort's Horcrux until he died. And he expected to meet his demise very quickly.

And yet, he did not.

Perhaps it was the calmly spoken words that did it; perhaps it was the maturity he showed when he managed to tame his anger.

Neville Longbottom began clapping his hands.

Ron and Hermione joined him right afterward, and the Dumbledore's Army followed the next. Naturally, the rest of the Gryffindors did not wait for anything and their enthusiasm infected the Hufflepuffs and finally the Ravenclaws.

Voldemort silently overlooked the applauding Great Hall. Harry watched him, reading the expressions on his face and slowly began to understand his hidden intentions. He was wrong with his previous judgement. Voldemort planned to lose this tournament from the very beginning. He also planned to kiss Harry for he wanted to discredit him completely. He wanted to turn his friends and supporters against him so that Harry would have no other choice than to join him – or stay completely alone. Also, the Dark Lord apparently wanted to prove him how humiliating a kiss can be.

He failed.

And now he had troubles believing it. His red eyes turned back to Harry, filled with anger and confusion. The Elder Wand trembled in his hand...

"My Lord! Please, I will do it! Let me kill him for you!" one of the Death Eaters cried as they jumped over the Slytherin table, pulling out his wand.

"Avada-!"

"No!" Voldemort screamed and whirled around, his wand slashing through the air. A bright jet of light hit the Death Eater into his chest and he wailed in pain. Still, he scrambled back to his feet soon after that, bowing to his master.

The applause died out fast and Voldemort turned back to Harry, his face once again unreadable.

"Very well, Potter," he whispered icily. "You won this one. Lord Voldemort admits it. But remember," he said, his silky voice turned more dangerous than before, "Next time, it is my turn. Next time, we will see how well you can cope with defeat."

With that, he took a step back, gestured at his Death Eaters and then strode out of the room, his long black robes billowing after him.

"No, you fool," Harry muttered brokenly as he watched him leave. "What you don't see is that I won nothing. Nothing at all."


	16. Hidden Hearts

xxxxx

"Harry! Harry!"

It was Seamus's pervasive voice that filled Harry's eardrums and penetrated his daze. Harry blinked and tore his eyes away from the place where Voldemort had vanished a moment earlier.

"You're so cool, man! You've got some nerve, I tell ya!"

"Amazing! The true leader of the D.A. is back," Neville nodded earnestly.

"The way you stood up to You-Know-Who!" Seamus continued excitedly, "And the way you _ruled_! There aren't many of us who would have the guts to do that! Especially after that snake-like monster tried to … _eww_ … eat your face."

The crowd of excited admirers was becoming rather thick around Harry, yet he felt oddly disconnected, lost in a mayhem of his perturbed feelings. There was no way he could possibly celebrate this questionable victory, if that was how he could call it in the first place. Other than that, he lacked the means to put his current state of mind into words.

"Drop it, Seamus," Ron intervened, patting Harry's shoulder. "Can't you see that Harry's still in shock? Imagine, his lips must be rotting away from You-Know-Who's venom. Perhaps Hermione could come up with some helpful spell. The only question is ... where is she again? Hermione … Hermione!"

Obviously, Harry was not the only one with a gang of admirers at his heels. Ron's ears turned vibrant red when he noticed Cormac McLaggen circling around his girlfriend like a moth around a luminous lamp.

"I'm here!" she called out over the tumult, waving her hand above her head as she made her way towards them. "I'm here," she repeated breathlessly, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Took you some time, eh? Seems like you prefer McLaggen's company over ours," Ron said resentfully, stuffing his fists into his pockets and dragging his feet.

"What?" Hermione looked at him in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing!" Ron snapped. "I am perfectly fine! It's Harry who needs help."

Before Hermione could even look at Harry properly, someone else emerged from the crowd.

"Leave it up to me!"

Everything happened very fast then.

Cho Chang circled her arms around Harry's firm shoulders, stood up on her tiptoes, wiped his lips with her soft thumb and kissed him.

Harry's breath got instantly stuck in his windpipe from surprise.

The kiss was everything Voldemort's was not. Warm and tender, tempting the part of his manliness to take what was offered. And yet, Harry could not do it; he was just not into it. He pulled away, took a step back and looked at his former classmates who were cheering them on.

"I'm sorry," Cho said after a moment, blushing fiercely. "I thought… Ron told me that you and Ginny broke up."

Harry's eyes sought Ron, who gave an all-explaining jerk of the head that Harry translated as 'She asked'.

"Yeah, we did," Harry forced a reply through his glued lips. He could not miss how Neville perked up at his words. Idly, he wondered whether he should wait for a stab of jealousy to make his insides boil and announce that he was back to normal or not. Something told him he would be waiting in vain. There were too many things eating at his mind, though none of them directly concerned Ginny Weasley.

"So … would you like to hang out with me … sometime?" Cho suggested hesitantly to reclaim his attention.

"Err … sorry, Cho. I'm quite busy lately," Harry said distractedly, "but thanks for the offer."

"Okay. So … maybe later than?"

"Maybe later," Harry nodded stiffly and she took a step backwards, then stopped and looked at him again as if expecting to see him change his mind. When Harry did not move, she finally sighed and turned to leave with her classmates, though she still sent him glances over her shoulder.

The Great Hall quickly depopulated. Harry could hear how Snape instructed other teachers to lead the students back to their classrooms. Slytherins were quite eager to go; they left first, following the Death Eaters right away. Ravenclaws were the next to leave, but most Gryffindorfs and Hufflepuffs wanted to stay behind and celebrate a little longer. Ultimately, they had no other choice than to follow Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout too.

When the last members of the D.A. finally left, Harry sat down on the bench, feeling rather exhausted. He knew that he just barely prevented a catastrophe with consequences far beyond his consideration. He only hoped that his foolish, treacherous heart had finally learned its lesson and would no longer mess with his feelings.

"Harry," Hermione said under her breath, taking a seat beside him while watching him intently.

"Harry, talk to us. Stop pretending that you don't know why You-Know-Who did that to you."

Harry looked at her quickly, taken aback. He obviously forgot that he could fool almost anyone except Hermione, who saw and perceived things beyond anyone's notice. And unlike that Divination nonsense, her observations were usually based on facts.

"What?" Ron muttered confusedly, apparently forgetting that he was not talking to her. "How could Harry possibly know something like that?"

"It's simple, Ron. I am positive that You-Know-Who's been planning to subject Harry to whatever humiliation he could think of ever since we successfully escaped from Malfoy Manor. Still, coming up with something like that would be very unlike him, unless - of course - Harry gave him the idea first," she said.

"Idea- What idea?!" Ron stuttered out, throwing his arms around. "Hermione, are you nuts?! Have you just suggested that Harry asked You-Know-Who to … to...? This is _completely_ mad! No - this is _worse_ than mad!" Then he turned to Harry, gesturing wildly. "Say something, Harry! Just tell her it's not true!"

Harry opened his mouth … and then he closed it again. In that moment, he felt like the most deplorable creature in the world. There were many other names he would not mind to call himself right then. He knew that the moment they made him speak, he would have to lie horribly. It was like betraying them … the only people who really cared about him.

Talk about the bravery now; he could not do it.

"Harry?!" Ron pressed on, his eyes bulging in his sockets.

Harry merely looked down at his clenched hands, hating himself in silence.

"No … no, I absolutely refuse to believe THIS!"

"Ron, you just don't understand anything! Stop it and think for once! Harry had to do it. He had no other choice!" Hermione snapped.

"Wh-?!"

Ron's eyes jumped from Hermione to Harry and back as if he was waiting for one of them to start laughing. "You're kidding, right?" he said when they both stayed quiet.

Harry looked up at Hermione, diverted. As much as he was trying to think of some rational explanation, that would at least partly ease his friends' rage, he could not think of anything at all. So, he was really intrigued in what Hermione was going to say.

"As I said, it's simple," Hermione hissed, gesturing at Ron to sit beside her and stay quiet. "Harry is You-Know-Who's you-know-what, right?" she mouthed almost soundlessly. "So, if you think about it this way, then you must admit that there's hardly a better transfer route for that piece of You-Know-Who's soul than via this 'channel'. Even Dementors suck out your soul through your mouth! It was certainly worth a try … if you're willing to disregard the consequences described in the Warlock's Hairy Heart tale. That's why I wanted Harry to know them, so he could stay on alert."

Harry and Ron both stared at her, flabbergasted.

"Hermione," Harry finally breathed, finding his lost voice again. "It seems … that you've been thinking about this a lot. Is it just my feeling, or... Wait, you have been trying to find the cure, right? Because it really seems to me now that you've only been trying to figure out the way how to save me!"

"Of course I've been trying to figure that out in the first place!" she exclaimed as if Harry said something surprising. "Harry, first of all you need to stop worrying about the Order all the time! The Order's been fighting You-Know-Who for thirty years, if not more. They know their job. But you – Lupin talked about it over and over when you were You-Know-Who's prisoner – you must not die! You're our only chance!"

"You're just repeating Dumbledore's words!" Harry snapped, hating to hear that 'Chosen One' story again.

"Yes, but-"

"We followed his plan and look where it brought us! We've got nothing! Nothing!"

"Hey … hey! Would you two stop skipping the _main_ topic and kindly explain to me what _exactly_ is between Harry and You-Know-Who?" Ron groaned.

"Ron, this is absolutely not important right now!" Harry fumed, feeling how his pent up stress and frustration was slowly getting to the surface.

"Well, it is certainly important to me!"

"Well, then it shouldn't be!" Harry bellowed and leaped to his feet before whirling around to face Hermione.

"Hermione, how is it possible that you haven't been working on that cure?! We've got _days_ , damn, maybe just _hours_ before he comes here and requests it and if we don't have it you're _dead_!"

"We hope you'll warn us ahead..."

"AND WHAT IF I WON'T BE ABLE TO?! HE USES OCCLUMENCY AGAINST ME, HAVEN'T I TOLD YOU?!" Harry roared, his fingers leaving angry marks on his skin as he dragged them down his face.

"You're more important than us..."

"DON'T GIVE ME THIS SHIT, HERMIONE! DON'T EVEN GO THERE! MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU? WHO SAID SO? LUPIN? DUMBLEDORE? AND YOU KNOW WHAT? THEY'RE WRONG! I DON'T DESERVE … HELL, I NEVER WANTED ANY OF IT, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

"Potter..."

"DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT I WANT TO SEE ANY OF YOU DIE? ANYONE? HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED HOW I FELT WHEN I HAD TO STAND HERE AND WATCH YOU FIGHT THAT PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A WIZARD WHO WAS HELL-BENT ON KILLING YOU AND-!

"Potter!"

Harry spun around, coming face to face with Draco Malfoy.

"Get lost, Malfoy!" he snapped exasperatedly.

"I did not come to talk to you," the blonde said stiffly, his eyes roaming about the trio.

" _Great!_ What do you want, then?"

"I just want to speak to … Granger."

"You stay away from her!" Ron jumped to his feet, raising his wand immediately.

"Wait...," Harry said when something finally got across to him. "Did you just say … _Granger_?"

Now even Ron realized that Draco did not use his favourite insult and exchanged a confused glance with Harry.

"It's all right, Ron," Hermione said and stood up as well. "Let him speak."

"If you think it's a good idea," Ron muttered, but lowered his wand.

"Well, I'm...," Draco began and fidgeted, unable to hold her intent gaze. "I'm aware that you saved my life," he admitted finally.

"Saved your life?" Ron snorted, but then hesitated. "Wait - that's right. You-Know-Who would have killed you, if Crabbe had won."

That apparently made Draco even more uncomfortable.

"Anyway, I'm just … well, me and my parents, we are … we are grateful, that's all."

"You're welcome," Hermione said quietly, taking a step closer to show that she was willing to overcome their previous disagreements.

"Then you'll do bloody well to remember that, ferret!" Ron snapped, nowhere near to be as forgiving as Hermione.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley!"

"What?!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione whirled around to look at the newcomer at once.

It was Snape. Harry wondered why he was not surprised to see him there.

"That's not fair!" Ron yelped, turning purple in his face.

"Isn't it?" the Headmaster whispered maliciously. "I believe you just insulted a fellow student with a clear intent to start a fight. The punishment is, in fact, very lenient."

"But you cannot take points from Gryffindor! We are no longer Hogwarts students!"

Harry noticed that Snape seemed to be very pleased with Ron's indignation and so he elbowed his best friend furtively.

"Aren't you, Mr. Weasley?" Snape leered. "I believe that the attendance of Hogwarts is compulsory for every young witch and wizard of your age now. But you, apparently, prefer to loiter around and cause a havoc instead … maybe further punishment will be necessary..."

"We have a job to do," Harry said loudly to stop Ron's further protests.

"Yes," Snape's dark eyes turned to Harry and stabbed him. "You certainly have a job to do, Potter."

"Draco," he said then. "Take Granger and Weasley back to the library."

"And Potter?" Draco asked, looking at Harry directly.

"He will join them later. There's someone who wants to talk to him."

Harry quickly glanced at Ron and Hermione and then back at Snape.

"Who wants to talk to me?"

The Headmaster did not answer that; he turned away and without another word he set forward to the staircase outside the Hall.

"Find some accessible escape route," Harry whispered into Ron's ear quickly before following Snape out of the Great Hall.

He looked over his shoulder once more and met Ron's widened blue eyes. His friend nodded meekly and Harry knew he got the message.

A few minutes later Harry got it too for he finally knew where Snape was leading him. Such a path could only take him to Snape's own office. With this realization, Harry started to mentally prepare himself for a very unpleasant conversation that he was nowhere ready to withstand.

They stopped in front of an ugly stone gargoyle that was guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"Inferi," Snape whispered and the gargoyle hopped aside, revealing the escalator-like spiral staircase.

"You've got ten minutes, Potter."

Harry tore his eyes away from him. He was unable to comprehend how could anyone, including Snape, willingly choose such a nasty password.

"You're not coming … sir?" he asked, but the man did not answer.

Harry therefore stepped on the moving stairs, his heart beating fast.

He had no idea who was waiting there for him.

Once he reached the top, he took the brass knocker and hit the gleaming oak door several times.

No one answered.

Carefully, Harry opened the door and looked inside.

"Hello?" he asked quietly, scrutinizing the dim, circular room.

"Hello?" he tried again and moved inside, closing the door.

The room looked exactly the same as the last time he saw it and Harry felt a strong tug at his heart. Snape apparently made no changes of its interior and it felt … it felt as if Dumbledore never left this place.

"Good afternoon, Harry."

Harry jumped at least a foot high in the air, shocked beyond any measure.

And then he realized … oh, he finally realized everything...

His eyes turned to the walls covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames … except one.

"Professor Dumbledore," he whispered quietly, torn between the urge to cry and scream at him.

The well-known blue eyes twinkled at him over the half-moon spectacles.

"It's good to see you again, my boy. I believe you are … angry with me, aren't you?"

Harry wondered whether angry was a word that would do his feelings justice. He nodded, just in case.

"Why...," he began, but his voice failed him again, so he had to give it another try.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth, Professor?"

"Ah, Harry. Truth is the most wondrous thing as long as we treat it with caution. It can easily cause more damage than help. Don't misunderstand me, my boy; I knew you would be able to handle it from the beginning. Please, believe me, I did. But then again, what would have stopped you from giving up whenever you had to fight for your life during those long past months? What would have prevented you from thinking 'that's no use, I'm going to die anyway'?"

Harry bit his lip hard.

"So I really have to die," he concluded dully.

"Everyone has to die, Harry, eventually. But this is not what you want to know. You wonder whether you have to die now, don't you?" Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry nodded uncertainly.

"As hard as it must be for you, Harry, don't let it bother your mind too much," the old Headmaster said and continued before Harry could voice his protest, "for I am certain this is no longer your decision to make."

"What do you mean, Professor?"

"Severus told me that Lord Voldemort is rather infatuated with you recently."

Hearing those words, a distinct red tinge began to creep up Harry's cheeks.

"Infuriated you meant to say, right?" he muttered. "Besides, he knows, sir. He knows I am his Horcrux."

"Naturally. And now you believe that this knowledge is the only reason behind his interest," Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"You think it's not?" Harry asked all too quickly. He bit into his tongue straight away but strangely Dumbledore did not comment on his slip.

"Ah, you posed another good question, Harry," he said instead.

"So ... I must find the answers myself, right?" Harry asked quietly.

"Harry, you have the power the Dark Lord knows not. And trust me, it is a great power indeed. It's only up to you how you decide to use it."

"Which is the other interpretation of the Prophecy, isn't it?" Harry countered. "The _R-rated_ part that you refused to explain to me, for you feared my reaction!"

"Harry, dear, you were only fifteen. Love was an abstract term for you at the time, wasn't it?" Dumbledore said sympathetically.

"That's right," Harry snorted. "But telling me that I either have to become a murderer or a victim was okay back then."

Dumbledore paused for a long moment.

"It was necessary. You had to know what you were facing. I am sorry," he said quietly then.

Harry opened his mouth, realizing that most of his rage dissipated anyway. He sighed and shook his head.

"Professor," he said after a while. "I... I think I start to understand your reasons. Still, there's one more thing I need to know."

"Ask away, Harry," his old mentor said quietly. "Ask away."

"It's about Voldemort, sir. Do you think he still has a chance?"

The saddened expression on the softly painted face slowly deepened.

"I'm afraid, Harry, that my answer is no. He's gone too far, I think."

Harry tried to fight down the burning feeling that erupted in his throat after hearing those words.

"So, he's gone … for good?"

"I do not dare to make guesses about that, Harry. Never forget what I told you before. I make assumptions and therefore I make mistakes like the next man. Don't let my errors control your life. Rather listen to your heart, Harry. It is, I believe, the only guide you should really listen to."

"And what if my heart's wrong, sir? I've never felt so torn about anything!"

"Perhaps the evidence you're looking for is at hand, Harry. If Lord Voldemort's humanity is still there and if you're willing to find it, it shall not remain undisclosed to you."

Harry took a shaky breath and nodded again.

"It's time, Potter."

He looked back and saw Snape standing at the door to his office, tapping his foot impatiently.

"I'm coming," he said and glanced back at the portrait once again.

"Thank you, Professor," he said quietly, then strolled past Snape downstairs and out to the corridor. Snape, to his surprise, followed him.

"I can find the way back myself, sir," he said curtly without turning to him.

"Impudent as always, Potter. Only a) you are not allowed to wander the corridors unguarded, and b) you are not going back to the library at the moment."

Harry spun around.

"I am not?"

"No. The prefects' bathroom is this way."

Harry refused to feel self-conscious because of Snape.

"I'm aware that I need a bath, still … this is not by any chance _his_ request, is it?" he said as he discreetly sniffed his armpit.

"If you meant the Dark Lord, Potter," Snape said peevishly, "he's not even at Hogwarts at the moment."

"Where is he, then?" Harry asked and followed Snape down the corridor.

Without slowing down the speed of his gait the Headmaster turned his head to give Harry a proper glare.

"What makes you think he confided in me, Potter?"

Harry shrugged.

They walked in silence for a while until Harry could no longer hold another burning inquiry on his tongue.

"Dumbledore told me that you believe he's infatuated with me … sir," he said quickly.

"This is a way too obvious, Potter," Snape snorted coldly.

"It's certainly not obvious to me," Harry held his own.

Snape sneered at him.

"Isn't it? Do you really believe, Potter, that the Dark Lord publicly kisses people? As far as I can remember, it never happened before. And he talks about you all the time. _All the time_ , Potter. It's unbearable. I even have to watch over you and give him regular reports of everything you do."

"Really?" Harry said, amazed.

"I don't like that tone of yours, Potter. The Dark Lord's interest may stroke your pubescent ego, but you seem to be forgetting that he still wants you dead. Nothing has changed about the fact, you can count on that."

Harry gave it a brief thought.

"Did you watch over me in Malfoy Manor as well?"

"Sir," Snape said curtly. "I believe I told you many times to call me sir, Potter."

"Did you, sir?" Harry pressed. "I mean, aside the obvious. Did Voldemort ask you to spy on me or something?"

"No, he didn't," Snape retorted again, watching Harry with narrowed eyes. "And stop using his name!"

"I was just thinking...," Harry began and paused.

"Thinking what?"

"Nothing. I just had a feeling … it's nothing."

The silence prevailed again.

"You shall know, Potter," Snape spoke after a while, "that the situation at the Ministry is critical. People are dying every day and it's not just the question of individuals," he said as they passed the statue of Boris Bewildered on the fifth floor and approached the prefects' bathroom. They eventually halted there and Snape turned to Harry, his expression unreadable.

"I don't feel obliged to give you any advice…," he said and hesitated as if he needed to rephrase the words before saying them aloud. "Still, if you are at least half as clever as Dumbledore thinks you are, you will not meddle with the Dark Lord's feelings. I cannot care less if you end up dead or with nothing but regrets, but there are people out there depending on you. You'd better not forget that."

Harry watched him in silence. Since he was not completely sure what brought this up, he replied with caution.

"So I'm here to save the world, sir? I'll consider your advice, then."

Snape snorted and clicked his tongue against his palate.

"Well, if you are here to save the world, Potter, then we are all _doomed_."

With that said, he uttered the password ("seaweed") that opened the door to the bathroom and marched away without giving Harry a second glance.

Harry did not wait to see him turn the corner and stepped inside, shut the door and leaned against it. His forehead pulsed from distinct information overload. He needed time to sort it out, but it had to wait; he felt too tired to do it now.

So he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment of peaceful quiet in this wonderful room, surrounded by marble walls, gold decorations and a bright orange glow of the afternoon sun. He began to undress then, pulled out the wand from his jeans and turned on a couple of golden taps. Harry loved observing simple magic like that. It would take many long hours to fill that swimming-pool-sized bath in the Muggle world, but here it took just a couple of minutes before the scented foam and hot water was reaching the brim.

Harry discarded the remaining clothes and slid inside, relaxing instantly. It was amazingly soothing, weightless feeling that encompassed him and Harry soon had to fight the sweet allure of a dreamless sleep.

He had totally failed in that since he woke up some time later with a growling stomach, a terrible cramp in his neck and something cold and sharp pressed to his Adam's apple.

He could understand his hunger, even the cramp, but what was the...

"Finally awake, Potter?"

A gurgling sound escaped Harry's throat and he snapped his eyes open to see the darkened room. The last sun rays long since disappeared behind the horizon, providing only slight reddish illumination that could hardly beat the fiery blaze of the red eyes above him.

A rush of adrenaline contracted all Harry's muscles and he immediately tried to push away, but realized several things at once.

First, he was still chest deep in water which was only lukewarm now.

Second, all the bubbles were _gone_.

Third, there was something very off with the way Voldemort gazed down at him from such a proximity. Even more perplexing were his bare, bony knees on each side of Harry's head. Obviously, his long legs were tucked under Harry's armpits and tightly crossed behind his back, immobilizing him completely.

To Harry's slight relief Voldemort was still dressed in his usual black robes. He merely pulled them up mid-thigh to effectively capture him in the bath.

And fourth, Harry could hardly miss the feeling of a _steel blade_ sliding up and down his throat in regular intervals.

The cold fingers tightened on Harry's chin.

"Stop squirming unless you want to get hurt," Voldemort hissed, obviously satisfied about how helpless Harry was in his hold.

"What the fuck you think you're doing?!" Harry exclaimed, outraged.

Feeling victorious, Voldemort apparently decided to ignore it.

"Practicing," he said coolly and moved his right hand to show Harry the razor. "I can hardly remember the last time I needed to shave."

Harry's breath died in his throat. He was totally at Voldemort's mercy. One small cut and there would be no Boy-Who-Lived any more.

"I can … do it myself," he managed to stutter out a few chilly slides on his skin later.

"And where would be the fun in that?" Voldemort sneered.

Harry gasped.

"Damn you, Riddle!"

"Don't waste your breath. Oh, and have I mentioned that I have a pretty nice view from here?"

"You-!"

The fingers on Harry's chin tightened again.

"If you hold still, I won't harm you this time."

"What a relief," Harry bit out.

The red eyes met his sharply.

"It should be."

Harry closed his eyes shut, willing himself to remain immobile. If only the touches on his face were not so distracting. Also, his scar began to pulse wildly again as if it suddenly remembered what it was supposed to do. Harry did not doubt that soon he would be squirming in his grip again.

The steel blade copied the curve of his chin now, moving upward to stop at his lips. Then it was lifted away and replaced by a warmer touch of a fingertip that wiped away excess of a foam. Harry breathed out reflexively and felt the hand shudder and stop its movement. Voldemort clenched his legs tighter.

"Are you finished?" Harry snapped.

"Not quite. And watch your tone, boy," the chilling voice spoke up, strangely muted.

The razor then changed its path to follow the soft plane of Harry's left cheek.

Slide and wipe, slide and wipe...

Harry forced himself to breathe again.

"I can't-"

"Stand this any longer? Who would have thought that you're such a faint-heart? Anyway, it's done," Voldemort said and raised Harry's chin to make him look directly into his face. "See, Potter? Still alive."

"Brilliant," Harry snapped. "Will you let me go now?"

Voldemort did not move. He was just watching Harry, not backing away, not moving any closer.

Then he sharply raised his head and looked towards the white toilet stalls in a distant corner of the bathroom. He made a disappointed sound at the back of his throat and his face, so smooth and even a minute ago, regained a sour expression.

"It seems," he said then, "that we are not alone."

"Myrtle," Harry mouthed as the Dark Lord finally released him, got to his feet and strode confidently towards the stalls, the Elder Wand in one hand and the razor in the other.

At first Harry wanted to watch him, for he found the whole concept quite amusing, but eventually he decided to use this chance to get dressed. He quickly climbed out of water, looking for his clothes and a wand.

To his surprise, he found both exactly where he left it. Only his clothes appeared to be cleaner, if he could judge it. Not giving it a second thought, he quickly began to dress himself after he speedily dried his wet skin. Then he looked back at Voldemort, who just slammed open the first stall.

His red eyes skimmed the place quickly and then he bared his teeth a little, hissing some insult at womankind.

He took a step further, breaking open the second door and the moment he did it, the toilet exploded. But it was not the usual splash announcing Myrtle's presence. It was a valid explosion with all the nasty content of the bowl flying everywhere and the porcelain rattling on the floor. And all that racket was accompanied with a terrible wail as Myrtle flew out towards the ceiling and then dove into the nearest sink, leaving the bathroom with a loud burbling sound.

Soon her wails could be heard two floors lower.

"Sweet," Harry commented when the silence finally prevailed. "Apparently, she still loves spying on boys."

Voldemort turned to Harry, still miraculously dry, for he managed to use a protective spell in time.

His face, unlike Harry's, showed no amusement though.

"I don't even want to know how you learned that," he said icily.

"And I don't want to tell you," Harry nodded. "I'd better be going since..."

"No, Potter," Voldemort stopped him short. "Not yet. Let's talk."

Harry, trying to quench premonition in his guts, spoke as calmly as he could.

"About what?"

"The cure."

Something cold slid down Harry's stomach and plummeted right through his feet. He forced himself not to gasp aloud for Voldemort was watching him now, coming towards him slowly.

"What's the progress?"

"We're working on it," Harry lied quickly, licking his lips fast.

"That's not enough by far," Voldemort said and for the first time his voice was openly dangerous. "I want to see some results."

Harry bit his lip hard. Why did he have to ask for it now, just hours after Hermione told him that she's got nothing?

"I said we're working on it," Harry repeated, solely tempted to retreat before the approaching wizard.

"You surely did not forget, Potter, what will happen if you fail?" Voldemort asked silkily, playing with his wand.

"How could I?" Harry snapped and raised his chin. "But I need to know how much time we've got left."

"Tomorrow," Voldemort said plainly.

"What?!" Harry yelped, his heart jumping to his throat and stifling his breath.

"I said I'll come for the cure tomorrow."

"But we don't have it yet!"

The red eyes gleamed maliciously.

"Then your friends should quickly visit Mr. Tombler, who's got this nice selection of tombstones in his charming little shop in Diagon Alley. His incomes are rather good recently: I'm sure he will gladly provide them some quantity discount."

Harry took a step back and then another one. He could see it now, the lurking monster, the damaged, inhuman part of Lord Voldemort that he learned to know so well. He did not want to talk to it. He did not want to have anything in common with it, partly for he knew that there was something else hiding behind it, small and shivering, but definitely alive.

"You don't have to do this," Harry said quietly, his voice bland, emotionless.

"A piece of my soul is dying. What is it that you can't understand about it?"

"I'm not talking about that! I'm talking about me! Why are you so obsessed with hurting me? This is all what it is about, isn't it? _Hurting me!_ Damn! Seriously, you're just like a kid who doesn't know how to get someone's attention aside from kicking around and destroying things-!"

"Potter, I warn you-"

"-which doesn't really make any sense since you know you've got mine! _Hell_ , I even told you so! All you've got to do is reach out and take it! And yet you're only making everything worse for whatever shitty reason you have! I just don't get it! The more I'm trying to stop hating you the more you're making me! Why? Why do you do it? What are you afraid of?!"

"Get out!" Voldemort hissed, his voice filled with fury.

"No! I want a goddamn answer for once, Riddle!" Harry snarled, equally riled up.

"I said get out, Potter! GET OUT!"

The angry little green spark escaped the tip of the Elder Wand, warning Harry that he was crossing the line. It was not worth it, he realized, shaking his head.

"Fine," he said coldly. "You deserve what you'll get."

Voldemort turned his back to him, a clear dismissive gesture that Harry could not misunderstand.

Still angry beyond any measure, Harry strode towards the door, opened it fiercely … and he paused with his eyes unseeing the empty corridor.

_"Perhaps the evidence you're looking for is at hand, Harry."_

The words that Dumbledore told him before suddenly rang in his ears, outdrowning everything including his rage.

For a split second Harry hesitated, then he closed the door again and looked back at Voldemort, who was still facing the darkened window.

There was a second of stillness and then a tortured moan escaped the Dark Lord's lips and the man hid his face in his palm in the most human gesture Harry had ever seen him do. It struck him so hard that he was unable to respond in any way - he could only gape at him in silence.

"Tom?"

Was it really his voice ?

But Voldemort whirled around, his red eyes wide with shock. Harry saw his pupils contract to thin slits as he was about to spit his next words like a venom.

"You have dared to stay here, Potter?"

Harry felt that he finally came to a long-sought decision.

"No, I haven't," he said.

"The Chosen One left, you see," he continued calmly. "He had to leave for he simply could not talk to you like a person to a person. He's behind that door now."

"What nonsense is that?"

"I'm Harry. Just Harry. Nice to meet you."

_"Potter!"_

"And I really need to talk to Tom. So, if Lord Voldemort would kindly leave as well, I have a very important message for you."

"Have you lost your mind at last, Potter? _I am Lord Voldemort!_ "

"And I am, for once, perfectly sane and deadly serious," Harry spoke calmly. "I need Lord Voldemort to leave this room. He can wait outside with the Chosen One."

Voldemort stared at him numbly, if Harry could use that word to describe his expression. The good thing was that the Dark Lord forgot about his anger completely.

"Wait outside...," he repeated, "...with the Chosen One?"

"Ah, that's right," Harry admitted, slowly coming to him. "Perhaps this is not such a good idea. They're going to kill each other out there, aren't they? I suggest we should hurry."

Voldemort watched Harry, his eyes unblinking, no breath escaping his lips. He appeared almost petrified.

"You said you have a very important message for me," he finally said.

"It depends … has Lord Voldemort left already?" Harry asked, coming to stand directly before him.

"I take it that you want me to control my reaction regardless of what you're going to say."

"No. I want you to _believe_ every word I'm going to say because it will be nothing but the truth. Sadly, Lord Voldemort would not believe me, but I know that you can."

Voldemort pressed his lips together, his nostrils quivering a little. His eyes, though, never left Harry's.

"He's left," he said then.

"Good," Harry breathed, once again feeling that unasked-for pull towards the other man. "For I will be talking about the Prophecy."

Harry could not miss how Voldemort's eyes widened with greed.

"Yes, that Prophecy," Harry nodded. "The one that says that neither can live while the other survives."

"Is that what it says?" Voldemort whispered, quivering with tension.

"Yep. It's a complete rubbish, by the way."

Harry had never seen the Dark Lord this undone. He saw his attempt to regain self-control, but he was unsuccessful.

"And what makes you think so?" he asked tensely.

"Many things. You should know, for instance, that good ninety percent of the Prophecies stored in the Prophecy hall were rubbish too. And it makes sense in fact! You cannot possibly believe that something is going to happen just because Trelawney or whoever else twaddled about it in trance! It's not important what she said; the only thing that matters is what you're gonna do about it! Because Prophecies can only happen if you pursue them! Which means that the future follows not your fate, but your decisions!"

Voldemort watched Harry in complete silence.

"Do you get it, Tom? It's your decisions! Let me give you an example. Do you think I was meant to tell you this? No! But I made a decision that Trelawney will no longer direct my fate! I'm sick of it, anyway! It's that simple, do you understand? Or this one: I wouldn't be here, running around, trying to destroy your Horcruxes if you didn't try to kill me twenty times already! If you did not go to Godric's Hollow seventeen years ago, I'd be a spoiled little brat with loving parents, numerous Quidditch fans to glorify me and five girlfriends dating me at once! And I wouldn't have even noticed that you existed, really!"

"So, you mean I created you," Voldemort said and Harry congratulated himself in silence.

"Got it at once," he said with relief. "You created me, equipped me with weapons and now I'm here! So what are you going to do about it?"

"What you said means only one thing, Harry Potter," Voldemort said after a while. "It's too late for us."

"No, it's not! It doesn't have to be," Harry said, shaking his head resolutely.

"Doesn't it? Really? And may I ask what alternative you suggest then?"

Harry looked him directly in the red eyes.

"You know what I suggested."

That instantly wiped the building sneer from the snow white face.

There was a long, embarrassed silence filled with quiet shuffling of Harry's shoes.

"This is absurd," Voldemort said at last but Harry noticed the lack of usual resolution in his voice.

"Absurd?" he asked, meeting his gaze again. "Why?"

When he got no answer, Harry threaded his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Care to tell me why we are still doing this, Tom? We both know what we want, don't we? So, go on, deny it again."

"And insane," Voldemort shook his head and stepped forward to pass him.

"Nice one coming from you," Harry said and caught his elbow, bringing him to an immediate halt. "I just want to kiss you. Now."

Voldemort made a sound as if Harry just knocked the breath out of him.

"Stop it, Potter! Stop it at once!"

"Even if I mean it? Badly?" he asked, his voice shaking. "Don't misunderstand; I did not forget what you did to me this morning. And I was really … really mad at you at the time. Still, I know now that you were merely after your revenge. Makes sense, I guess. And I also know that you regretted it the moment you did it. I … I felt it."

Harry slid his hand down the long forearm to touch the bare, bony wrist. The hand jerked violently at the contact but it was not drawn away. Further, Voldemort did not deny his words; he just stood there, lost and doubtful.

"Come on," Harry whispered, his insides clenching with nerves and familiar yearning. "Don't … just don't make me ask you again or I'll … I'll … I'll stutter you to death, I swear. Look, I'm already red like a tomato."

The pale, barely visible lips finally twitched slightly … in an attempt of a smile? Harry was yearning to touch them, but he feared that his heart might cancel his plans since it hammered so hard in his chest it might easily fall apart.

"You certainly know how to pose death threats, Harry."

His name … it sounded so nice when he said it that way. The burning feeling intensified and Harry gathered his courage and leaned even closer, wrapping his arm slowly and carefully around his shoulders, the fingers of his other hand coming to a contact with the cool, hairless nape. It was a strangely pleasing feeling when the warmth returned to his hand just a short moment later.

"I agree. That's my strong point."

"Mine's better," Voldemort whispered stiffly, somewhat unnerved as their clothed chests touched and their breaths mixed together.

"I'm not … arguing about that," Harry breathed out, his befuddled brain wondering how anyone can look so captivating up this close with so very few features that could be generally considered enchanting.

He stopped pondering about it and closed the remaining little distance, making their lips graze just lightly, testing the waters. And he was rewarded with the softest sigh and a tremor that ran down the Dark Lord's spine. Harry held him closer, providing his body warmth freely while kissing him again. It was just a simple touch and yet he was already riveted by the quality of the latter's skin. Cool and so soft that he wanted to dive right inside and extinguish the fire that was burning inside his body. Still, their shyness and a lack of co-ordination caused that the second kiss was even clumsier than the first one. Normally, Harry would have pulled away and laughed it off, but this time it was only turning him on more.

Because the clumsiness was perfection. The teeth clashing was even better. The totally unplanned tongue collision was just out of any rating list. And that breath, warm and ragged against his lips, was divine.

Harry nevertheless felt that Voldemort still struggled with this: one moment he was pulling him closer, his hands gripping him almost painfully, while the other he was almost pushing away, his body becoming locked up like some impenetrable fortress.

Harry refused to let him slip from his grasp; not now, after he gave up so much of himself to get to this point. He licked the pale lips and moved past them, hungry and demanding for more taste, more sensation and yes, he could feel now that Voldemort craved this just as badly, if not more.

They pulled away, suddenly, gasping for breath, and Harry had a distinct sensation that the room was slowly spinning around him. He reached out for his glasses to take them off, but Voldemort caught his hand.

"Keep them on," was all he said and his fingers slid to the collar of Harry's shirt.

"May I … hah … may I ask you something?" Harry asked, his breath catching at his throat as the cool hands caressed his chest. "Out of pure curiosity, of course...," he muttered, trying not to stay behind as he busied himself with the clasps and hundreds of buttons on Voldemort's robes but this activity kind of made him return to senses a bit.

Voldemort said nothing and Harry took it as a sign of agreement.

"When … when were you the happiest?"

The hands stopped momentarily, only to travel up towards his chin, his lips, into his hair and back down to his shoulders.

"Now," Voldemort said quietly.

Harry kissed him hard, melting into the feeling as it was becoming better and better with building experience.

"So, then...," he gasped, breathless. "When were you the least happy?"

"Now," Voldemort replied without hesitation.

Harry nodded, understanding him better than ever, but it did not stop him from undoing the buttons.

"I thought you may like to know that … that I feel the same," he whispered, reaching down to open the robes. "Come here … ask what you want. Tell me - anything - I'm open to your suggestions."

"You … you'll regret it tomorrow."

"No," Harry breathed and wrapped his fingers around him through the soft layers of dark fabric, stroking him lightly. "I may end up hating myself for the rest of my life, but I will never regret this."

Voldemort's mouth opened in a silent moan of rapture.

"Don't," Harry gasped, "don't hide your feelings now… let me know that you feel good... I want to see it … and feel it," he whispered, kissing the pale throat hungrily.

"Hah … Harr-," Voldemort rattled, his head sinking down and he bit into Harry's shoulder hard, shuddering wildly. Harry accepted it and welcomed it, moving his hand a little faster.

"You see, we're both like prisoners. Seemingly allowed to go anywhere … do anything … but it's not true at all... We're prisoners of our beliefs, never able to step out, always feeling bad … _bad_..."

Harry backed him to the closest wall, his hand sneaking further into the disheveled robes, milking the silky flesh in his palm, drawing his fingers from root to tip, teasing the weeping head.

Voldemort muttered something incoherent, tossing his head as if in pain.

"I want to feel good for once … I'm sick of constant suffering. Come on, Tom, touch me. Please."

And he did, his hand came down on him, squeezing him hard through the jeans. Harry cried out, pressing his forehead into the hard collarbone in front of him, feeling his glasses slide down his face awkwardly, but he did not care, not now, when the long, bony fingers pushed down his jeans and curled around him, making the throbbing in his lower abdomen unsustainable.

Harry drove hard into that clutch, again and again, his own hand becoming sticky as he moved it fast over the pulsing heat.

"God-damn it, Po-tter!" Voldemort cried out after a loud, uncontrolled moan escaped his lips. His head slammed backward, hitting the wall with a distinct thud, but he did not seem to care as he tightened his grip on Harry even more.

Harry's mouth dropped to his pulse point and he sucked on every bit of the skin he encountered, then groaned and gasped for air. The scent that filled his lungs was overwhelming and Harry dissolved in it, his mind falling into a state previously unknown to him. Everything felt too good now, every touch and kiss and stroke was bringing his body closer and closer to the brilliant release.

Voldemort convulsed first and Harry felt that rush of ecstasy in every inch of his body; he followed right after him, spilling uncontrollably into the Dark Lord's grasp.

Their mouth crashed, riding out that feeling, as their heated bodies left them breathless and sliding towards the marble floor.

Harry sagged down, resting against the man in his loose embrace, basking in the afterglow.

It was just too perfect. It was everything he wanted and imagined and far more than that.

"Shit, that was intense," he heard himself mutter breathlessly, refusing to lift his head from a surprisingly comfortable cushion consisting mainly of Voldemort's shoulder.

"Do you know … do you know you taste like a barbecue? So spicy..."

Voldemort's head, conveniently resting on Harry's arm in return, was lifted a little.

"I don't want to know that … you carnivore," he said, his vibrant voice lacking most of its chill.

Harry could not help it and laughed out. There was this wonderfully light feeling in his heart that made him think that if he jumped out of the window right now, he would be flying by himself.

"Harry," Voldemort said after a while, his cold, but soft voice doing weird things with the butterflies in Harry's stomach.

"Yes, Tom?" he tried to ask as casually as he could.

"Did it work? I don't personally think it did, but..."

Harry immediately reared back like a snake, taking a defensive stance.

"So this is it! That's why you did it, right? Right?!"

"Well, Potter, I could easily accuse you that you did this only to save your pitiful little friends. And I would be right too, wouldn't I?" Voldemort snarled back, his red eyes gleaming again.

Harry stood up fast, redoing the buttons on his jeans and shirt briskly.

"This is just perfect!" he spat out. "So you still think I'm _whoring_ myself. I pity you … for thinking that."

Voldemort rose to his feet too, making himself presentable with a mere flick of his wand.

"That's the only explanation," he said coldly.

"Oh, really?!" Harry seethed.

"Don't make me laugh, Potter! You cannot possibly have feelings..."

"No!" Harry snapped, wiping the spit that dropped to his chin. Then he strode over to the door and yanked it open. "I cannot possibly have feelings for you, Riddle! You're right!"

And he marched outside and slammed the door shut with such a force it cracked along the hinges.


	17. The cure

xxxxx

A couple of minutes later, Harry stormed past Draco Malfoy back to the library. He did not even give the young, confused Death Eater a single side-glance. His blood was on fire with rage and disappointment and he had to do his best not to unleash it all on Ron and Hermione, once he found them sitting in a secluded corner and talking quietly to each other.

They stood up when they saw him, their faces tense and worried.

"We're leaving," Harry said curtly at once.

"But-"

"We are leaving, Ron," Harry raised his voice. "You wanted me to warn you ahead, so here I am, warning you. We ran out of time."

"Does it mean that You-Know-Who...?" Hermione began, but Harry interrupted her.

"You can guess twice, Hermione! We need to notify the Order. And we need to get ready for the fight."

"I see," she said quietly and nodded. "Do you know how much time we've got left, Harry?"

"No idea."

He took a deep breath and shook the tension off his arms and shoulders, willing himself not to start punching the walls.

"We should refrain from staying here till the morning, though," he added more calmly then.

"All right. I'll have my handbag packed in a minute. In the meantime," she said and approached him, giving him a small package wrapped in a brown paper, "you should eat this."

When Harry gave her a confused stare, she furrowed her eyebrows.

"You must be starving!"

Now that she mentioned it, Harry had to admit that his stomach was for the past couple of hours cramped into a tiny, spasmodic ball. With all the butterflies gone, only acid remained in his guts, adding fire to his veins.

He opened the package and took a hungry bite into a crispy toast. It was remarkable what a little nourishment could do to his mood. His anger dulled as he ate and his thoughts cleared. It was a blessed relief and Harry relished in it.

He was just finishing his scant meal when his friends returned to him, double-checking their belongings. Ron then looked up at Harry and paused; he seemed to have realized something since he began scratching his chin thoughtfully.

"Funny," he said then, still watching Harry quizzically. "When did you have time to shave, Harry?"

Harry's mildly appeased stomach jumped at those words and he felt heat creep up his face as he slid his palm over the smooth skin on his cheek.

"Err … uh … that was before … and, anyway," he stuttered and took another deep breath to calm himself. "We need to get out of the castle now. I suppose we can only use the same passage as before which means we have to get ready to face the Dementors again."

"Maybe we don't have to use that one," Ron shook his head and cast a quick glance at Hermione.

"Go on," Harry prompted him when he saw his hesitation.

"Well, it's still only a theory," Hermione hastened with explanation. "When Draco was taking us back to the library, we heard two Death Eaters talking about a couple of students who were spotted at Hogsmeade three days ago."

"Really? Another passage remains open then?" Harry asked eagerly. "But as long as we don't know which one it is..."

"We can ask Neville," Ron butted in. "I heard him say that the D.A. will be celebrating in the Room of Requirement tonight. Besides, who else would dare to leave the castle aside the members of the D.A.?"

"That's right, mate," Harry said, amazed.

"Good job," he added and looked at Hermione, who smiled weakly at him.

It was the worries in her eyes that cooled Harry's budding excitement back to zero. Seeing her distress, he felt a prickle of conscience, but he chased it away fast.

"All right, then," he said throatily after that. "It's time to go."

"There is still Draco...," Hermione uttered quietly as they approached the entrance door.

"I know," Harry sighed. "I'll take care of it."

He flung the door open and pointed his wand at the young Death Eater whose blue eyes widened with surprise.

"Potter!"

Harry saw him grasp the handle of his wand, but that was all he managed to do.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry shouted and Draco fell backward like a statue, hitting the ground loudly with an expression of surprise frozen on his features.

Harry immediately knelt down to him and made him look into his face.

"He won't hurt you if you tell him that you would have to kill me to stop me," he said simply and then he looked up at Ron and Hermione.

Then he rose to his feet and they broke into a run, sprinting up the staircases and corridors. Harry was ahead and Ron and Hermione close behind him, checking the Marauder's map all the time.

"Harry! Careful!"

With that warning Harry immediately ducked behind the closest armour, pressing his back to the wall.

"What?" he gasped.

"Peeves," Hermione said breathlessly and Harry cursed silently.

Slowly, he peered from behind the harness and looked at the poltergeist, who was hovering in the midair, playing with his dreadful orange bow tie and cackling to himself.

"I'll go ahead and try to open the Room under the cloak," Hermione suggested in a barely audible voice.

"No, I've got a better idea," Harry shook his head, thinking of imitating Bloody Baron. However, before he could clarify it further, Peeves perked up at once and flew right through the closest wall, disappearing from their sight.

"Well, that was cl-," Ron began, but before he could finish the sentence a sudden, high-pitched sound of an alarm bell resounded in the empty corridor.

"Seems like someone's already noticed that we're missing," he said glumly instead.

"Let's get moving then," Harry said and the trio ran out of their hideout and hurried along the corridor to the place where a stretch of blank wall opposed an enormous tapestry depicting the comedy of troll's ballet.

Reaching their destination, Harry concentrated hard as he paced along the wall, thinking of the D.A. and the Room of Requirement. Curiously, he was just finishing his second turn, when the door suddenly appeared out of nowhere and a crowd of students ran out of it.

"Alarm! It's an alarm! Back to your Houses, everyone! Quickly!" Neville's voice boomed down the corridor.

"Harry?"

The students gradually came to halt, turning around to look at Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"We need to contact the Order," Harry said quickly, skipping the greeting. "Neville, is there any way how we can get out of the castle unnoticed?"

Neville's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but then he nodded fast.

"Stop loitering around and run!" he shouted at the students who regrouped around them. "Even you, Seamus! It's not worth it! I'll help Harry – you go - just go!"

Then he beckoned to Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Come, quickly," he said, while retreating back to the Room of Requirement. "Follow me."

Once the door shut behind them, Harry came to an instant halt. Bewildered, he looked around the chamber they were in. He could not recognize it at all. It was certainly huge enough to provide space for dozens, maybe even a hundred of students. He could see the golden Gryffindor lion on a scarlet tapestry at the wall opposite to them and right next to it there was the black badger of Hufflepuff in a yellow field and the bronze eagle of Ravenclaw on the blue background. The silver serpent of the Slytherin House was pointedly missing. Harry's eyes scanned the room further, noticing numerous bookcases filled with books and parchments, armchairs and tables around the walls and he even noticed some provisional beds in a distant corner.

"Where are we?" Ron breathed out in disbelief.

"It's our Room of Requirement, of course! Surpassed itself, hasn't it?" Neville said excitedly. "But the coolest thing is that the Carrows cannot find us here – as long as we're careful enough to close all the possible loopholes. The only problem is that they always notice when you're missing in the classes, so we cannot stay here for too long."

"But the alarm's on!" Hermione said quickly. "They'll be checking the Houses for missing students. You should hurry back before they notice you're gone!"

"Nah, don't worry about me," Neville waved it off. "I don't mind if they do. Besides, I've got my pureblood status to protect me. They're not gonna kill me for this, they'd be in serious trouble."

"Moreover," he added with a brighter smile. "You wanted to get out of Hogwarts, didn't you?"

"What do you mean? Is there a way how to get outside from here?" Harry asked.

"You can bet there is," Neville winked at him, leading them towards a large portrait of some girl on the wall. "First time I had been hiding in here for a day and a half, I got really hungry and I wished for some food to appear and looked what happened when I did."

He turned to the portrait, raised his hand and said a single word.

"Ariana?"

The girl in the portrait smiled and nodded a little and then the whole thing swang forward, revealing an entrance to a tunnel behind.

"What is this?" Ron shook his head in disbelief.

"Ariana?" Hermione asked with confusion. " _That_ Ariana? Dumbledore's sister?"

"Exactly," Neville nodded. "Come on. Let's go and have a proper dinner."

"Where is this tunnel leading to?" Harry asked as he, Ron and Hermione followed Neville inside.

"To Aberforth's Hog's Head. Did you know he's Dumbledore's brother?"

"Yes," Hermione peeped out. "I read about it in that ... Skeeter's book," she said timidly, as if ashamed of her knowledge.

"That's right," Neville nodded. "Ab told me that Skeeter had been snooping around for some time, requesting interviews and stuff, but he refused to talk to her. Don't expect him to say anything nice about Dumbledore, though. I don't think they actually talked to each other after that … incident, you know."

"But he's in the Order, isn't he?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, he is. He's a nice guy, in fact. He's just got these issues when it comes to his brother."

Harry did not pursue the topic anymore. He could identify with people who had issues with Dumbledore's 'For the Greater Good' life motto. He was sure that Dumbledore himself suffered enough for it.

And so did he.

They walked for some time in silence before Ron's quiet whisper captured Harry's attention.

"What is is, Ron?" he asked and turned to him.

"I just wonder … does You-Know-Who know already that we ran away?"

"I don't know," Harry muttered under his breath. "Lately, he's been very efficient in blocking me out. I can't help but think he's plotting something."

Harry tried to ignore the leaden blocks that shifted inside him as he said those words. He caught Hermione's quick glance, but before he could say anything more, the portrait on the other side of the tunnel opened up and they hopped inside a small, dim room.

"Ab?" Neville asked, looking around. "Are you in here?"

"Mr. Dumbledore?" Hermione asked quietly as they searched the small room with a single dusty window.

"He's not here," Ron complained about the obvious, watching Neville go check the inn.

"He's left here some food," Harry said, pointing at a loaf of bread, some cheese and a bottle of wine on a table.

"I wouldn't eat it," Ron mumbled, though his eyes said differently. "Who knows how long it's been here..."

"It's fresh, don't worry," Neville said as he returned from the inn. "Aberforth always leaves us some food on this table when he's off to do some stuff for the Order like today."

"If you say so," Ron said, unsure, but he was already heading for the table and taking a knife into his hand.

"Anyway, you can't leave now. It's after the curfew. You would have dozens of Death Eaters at your heels right away. Better wait till the morning. Much safer for us all," Neville said, taking a seat.

"I was wondering," he continued as they were all seated around the table, "if I could go with you this time. I mean," he added quickly, "I'm kind of fed up with being hunted down by the Carrows all the time. I want to do something helpful too … if you understand me."

Harry exchanged quick glances with Ron and Hermione and then he spoke.

"You're being very helpful, Neville. Amazing, really. If you left the school, what would happen to the students? I'm sure you know by now that they need someone to stand by their side and not just some unreachable icon. They need someone who can show them that their resistance is not futile."

Harry paused to take another bite into his portion of cheese. He rolled it on his tongue for a moment and then he took a sip of the wine.

"Also, I would appreciate if you were more honest with me," he said then. "I can see how much you like being the leader of the D.A. It makes me think that the main reason behind your desire to leave is Ginny. You want to see her again, don't you?"

The effect of Harry's calm words was immediate. Ron squirmed with discomfort, Hermione gave him a questioning look but Neville, poor guy, turned red from the head to his feet.

"I … I'm really sorry … Harry," he stuttered out. "I really did not mean to … it happened so suddenly and I don't know how … and … I felt so miserable about it, you can't even imagine..."

"It's all right, Neville," Harry sighed, gazing into his cup, "I'm fine with it, really."

"You … you really mean it?" Neville asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Harry said, raising his eyes. "I mean it. Ginny and I … it just didn't work out."

"And what about me?" Ron grumbled. "No one asked me about the permission!"

When three pairs of curious eyes turned to him, he furrowed meaningfully.

"She's my sister!"

"Stop it, Ron," Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "You're only embarrassing yourself. Ginny can date whoever she wants."

Idly, Harry wished he could also date whoever he wanted.

In other reality, perhaps. A million miles from here would be probably fine.

He gulped heavily, no longer feeling hungry.

"I'm off to bed," he said and sprang to his feet, unable to bear the constriction in his chest. He realized what he said right then and bit into his lip hesitantly. "If there is such an option, of course."

Neville, who seemed unusually eager to please him, jumped up as well.

"Sure, Harry," he said. "There are several beds upstairs. We … I mean me, Seamus and others slept there a couple of times already … so I guess it's okay if we use them again."

"Sounds good."

Harry nodded to Ron and Hermione and followed Neville up the narrow wooden staircase into a small mansard.

"I'm sorry, it's no luxury, but it's kind of okay for one or two nights," Neville said apologetically, once he opened the door and stepped inside.

Harry went in after him, then sat down on the nearest bed and looked out of a tiny window. After sleeping for months in a tent, he was content with any proper bed. He scratched his forehead as his scar began to prickle him a little and then he nodded.

"It's okay, Neville," he said to his unnerved friend. "Look, no rats, no cockroaches... Better than okay, actually."

"Yeah. That's right. Well then ... good night, Harry," Neville nodded and closed the door quietly, leaving him alone.

The darkness was soothing. Harry contemplated lighting up the lamp on the bedside table at first, but now that his head met the pillow, he was glad he did not bother. Here, without any distractions, his scar was throbbing more intensely, but it was still a mild pain compared to the usual seizures. Harry closed his eyes, resisting the temptation to look into Voldemort's thoughts.

Instead, he pressed his face into a pillow and forced himself to think about Snape and Dumbledore and all the things they told him today, but it got all mixed up in his head and eventually slowly dissolved in tiredness that clouded his senses.

Then there were noises … voices, perhaps? His friends talking downstairs?

A feeling of cold anger flooded him all of a sudden. He stood in a large, dark room lit with nothing but a flare coming from the fireplace. There was a magnificent oak table in front of him covered with parchments and official documents... They were scattered everywhere, the ink was spilling over the desk … and the noises … yes, the noises were coming from the man who was kneeling at his feet, whimpering and shaking in fear.

"You did what, Thicknesse?" Harry asked in a high, cold voice, barely controlling his anger. "How come you're accepting orders from anyone but Lord Voldemort?"

"M-my Lord … it was Yaxley," the man almost cried. His long black hair was sweaty and his beard streaked with silver shook as he spoke. "Yaxley told me it was your wish, master. I-I did not want to bother you by requesting confirmation..."

"This is unacceptable!" Harry hissed coldly, raising the Elder Wand. "Go and fetch him! And you'd better not keep me waiting."

Harry watched the man scurry out of the room hastily before looking down at his large pale hands. His rage was only muted by disquieting distress that blossomed inside him freely and that he could not pacify with his common sense of purpose.

The time was almost up, he knew he needed to act. He needed to return to Hogwarts and yet...

"It must be done," he said quietly to no one. "And it will be … soon. But first..."

He raised his eyes and caught their red reflection on a glossy surface of a dark, brazen lamp.

"Harry..."

Harry turned his head to the other side. His forehead was on fire.

"Harry!"

Someone was calling him and that voice was becoming really obnoxious.

"Harry, _please_ , wake up!"

There was a loud yelp that finally broke through his sleepiness. Harry opened his eyes only to see that he thumped Hermione with his pillow.

"Ah! Hermione!" he groaned. "I'm sorry … what's going...?"

"Harry! It's Ron!" Hermione cried as she pushed the pillow off her face. "I could not stop him!"

"Stop him?" Harry muttered, groping the tiny bedside table for his glasses. "Stop him from what?" he asked as he found them and put them on.

The morning shine blinded his eyes and Harry had to blink several times before he noticed that someone else was standing in the doorway.

"Mr. Dumbledore?" Harry asked with surprise once he noticed the long grey beard and recognized the familiar blue eyes.

"It would be very foolish of you to come after him," the old man said without any introduction.

"Can anyone finally tell me what's going on?" Harry shouted out as he scrambled to his feet.

Hermione turned to him and he could see now that her eyes were red and puffy.

"Mr. Dumbledore brought us horrible news," she hiccuped. "Bill … Bill Weasley is dead, Harry! He was _murdered_ … at the Ministry … yesterday evening."

"WHAT?!"

"Murdered by the Minister himself! On You-Know-Who's orders!" Hermione cried. "And Ron … he … he just … flipped out. He said … oh, Harry! He said he's going to kill … _You-Know-Who!_ Then he took the map and ran away!"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME UP IMMEDIATELY?!" Harry roared in a frenzy.

"I was trying!" she cried out. "It took me ages to wake you up! You were having some … nightmare or something!"

"We need to stop him now!" Harry hurled out, buttoning his shirt in haste. "We need to stop him before he does something _really_ stupid! Where's Neville?"

"He ran after him … back to the school. It's just minutes ago," Hermione said, choking.

"Damn it!" Harry snarled, taking on his shoes fast.

"I say this again. You should think twice before going back there, Harry Potter," Aberforth stopped him at the door, his voice low and even. "Consider what you are about to do."

Harry looked up into the old man's face, his eyes ablaze with determination.

"I'm sorry, sir. I will not let my best friend commit suicide!" he said through gritted teeth. "That's the only consideration I need."

Then he and Hermione ran downstairs and towards Ariana's awaiting portrait.

"Please, let us in," Harry pleaded and she nodded a little and revealed the corridor behind the screen.

A distinct burning sensation in his scar only pumped adrenaline in Harry's veins as he galloped up the narrow, dark passage towards the school. He did not wait for Hermione, knowing that she would catch up with him eventually. He needed to find Ron, but without the map there was hardly a way he could do it in time.

He made it to the Room of Requirement in a record time, only to see that it was empty. He could not hide his disappointment; how much he would appreciate his friends' help now!

Harry forced himself to a full halt, trying to stand still and think. If Ron really wanted to proceed with that insanity, he needed a plan. It was not like he could run into Voldemort in the first corridor. That way he would only encounter Carrows who...

"Damn!" he cursed again.

"Harry!"

Hermione burst into the room after him, bending over and massaging a stitch in her side.

"The Carrows!" Harry said quickly. "Hermione, we've got to find the Carrows! Ron can only summon Voldemort by touching the Death Eater's Dark Mark!"

"What about Draco?" she said between gasps, sounding more desperate than ever.

"Gosh, you're right!" Harry snarled. "And we don't know who he's after 'cause we don't have the map!"

"Let's draw their attention towards us then," Hermione said. "We must be careful to avoid the capture and at the same time watch out for Ron when he appears."

"All right, let's do it..."

At that point, the pain in Harry's scar suddenly peaked and the Room of Requirement disappeared before his eyes. All he could see was a completely different room, darker one but also familiar, and he was towering above Yaxley, who lay on a dusty carpet in front of him, twitching and shivering violently. And Harry was furious because of the summons he felt. They were calling him back to the castle while he ordered them not to disturb him unless the highest emergency. He needed the answers … and he could not have them now.

"No! Not yet!" Harry heard his own voice as if from a huge distance. "Ron … don't!"

"It seems you'll live a little longer. I'll talk to you later," another, colder part of Harry hissed at the man on the floor and he turned around and headed for the fireplace situated behind him.

"Harry – Harry!"

Harry opened his eyes forcefully and looked into Hermione's distressed brown ones.

"It wasn't him," Harry gasped out as if in pain. He remembered his dream much better now. "I think that …Voldemort did not order Thicknesse to do it. It was Yaxley. I don't know what exactly is going on here … but Ron is doing this madness in vain!"

"Harry," Hermione said slowly, holding his face to keep the eye contact. "Where is he? Tell me, where is Ron?"

"I don't know … but Voldemort's here," Harry breathed out heavily. "He's already here in the castle … and he's … he's going to the third floor!"

As if she had been waiting for that, Hermione sprinted out of the door and Harry had to do his best to keep up with her. They raced downstairs like crazy; one little stagger and Harry knew he would break all his bones against the nearest wall.

It did not matter. He didn't care. All he could think about was stunning Ron, hiding him under the Invisibility Cloak and getting him safely out of Hogwarts. And in order to do that, he needed to find him before Voldemort.

There was a moment when he really thought that he could make it, but then a terrible shriek of pain carried in an all too familiar voice crushed his hopes. Hermione, who was still ahead of him, cried out in desperation and pulled out her wand hastily.

"No, Hermione! Don't!"

They were just turning the last corner when Harry finally caught up with her and held her tight as she squirmed against him, hissing at him like mad.

"Stop it! Just stop it right now! You'll get us all killed!" Harry shouted and she stilled in his arms at last, though still trembling uncontrollably.

It was the moment when Harry took a look at the scene before them.

And the sight presented to him froze the marrow of his bones.

Alecto Carrow was on lying on the ground about twenty feet from him, probably stunned, possibly dead. Snape stood close beside her reclining body, holding Neville Longbottom under his neck, pressing his wand against his temple.

And then there was Ron. His legs were kicking the thin air as the ultimate power of the Elder Wand was holding him ten feet above the ground, slowly throttling him. He was unable to make another sound.

Time seemed to be doing strange things. During their gallop to the third floor it went incredibly fast, but now it stopped and died together with Harry's breath.

The last occupant in the corridor moved.

Tall and gaunt, Lord Voldemort stepped forward, his red eyes and his pale face slowly turned to Harry, unreadable, clouded by the shadows.

"Ron!" Harry called out and released his hold on Hermione.

They were late, too late, he realized with desperation as he raised his wand.

The deafening silence stretched on and on.

Voldemort watched him, still again, only the muscles on his white jaw stretched and relaxed occasionally. Then he took a short, loud breath, his thin nostrils widening for a fraction of a second.

"Harry Potter," he said softly, then, "...has returned to Hogwarts. He has returned to save his pitiful little friend..."

The Elder Wand moved a little and Ron fell to the ground, curling up and moaning.

"...who thought he could challenge the Dark Lord. Who thought he could summon him like a pet for a play..."

There was unmistakable anger in that voice, cold and sharp like a knife-edge.

"Oh, and I would play with you, fool," he hissed at Ron viciously, "...with pleasure, if I had time."

"But as it is," he continued aloofly and slowly set out towards Harry, his gait somewhat uneven, heavy, lacking its usual grace, "...there is only one question I have for the _Chosen One_."

Harry looked directly into those bright red eyes and saw another undefinable emotion leaking underneath the fiery anger. The problem was that it remained … _undefinable_.

"Have you brought me the cure?" the Dark Lord asked in a measured voice.

Each word felt like a hammer slamming into Harry's heart. It cut so deep and hurt so bad that Harry could not speak.

"If not," Voldemort whispered, his cat-like eyes narrowing, "we can end it right here. And I shall start with the redhead..."

"NO!" Hermione screeched and ran towards Ron before Harry could stop her. "We have the cure," she cried, taking Ron's head in her lap. "We have it! Please, _please_ , don't kill him!"

Voldemort's face reflected no emotion.

"So?" he asked evenly, ignoring her.

"Harry, don't tell him!" Neville said through gritted teeth. "Whatever you've got, don't tell him!"

Harry met his eyes and then Snape's black, unreadable ones.

"You've heard her," he finally said in a constricted voice. "Do you want your cure? Ask Hermione."

"I am asking you," Voldemort said coldly.

"Then you're asking the wrong person! I, obviously, have nothing to offer you! _Nothing at all_ ," Harry snarled, his throat burning.

Voldemort opened his mouth. For a fraction of a second Harry could almost see the words forming on his lips – but then he retreated back to his ice-cold shell and his fiery eyes turned to Hermione, who sat crouched by Ron's side.

It was perhaps the first time he actually acknowledged her presence.

"Speak, Mudblood," he hissed at her. "Don't try my patience."

"It's the...," Hermione said, her teary eyes meeting Harry's. "It's the ultimate sacrifice. You've got to perform an act of the ultimate sacrifice," she said under her breath.

A brief surprise showed in Voldemort's face as he looked down at her, turning towards her fully.

"Interesting...," he whispered softly. "A Mudblood reading the Dark Arts books. Who would have thought?"

Slowly, he looked up at Snape, whose face remained empty like a mask.

"Well," he continued quietly, "perhaps you could also tell me, how shall I proceed with such a task?"

Harry kept the eye contact with Hermione and tried to read her thoughts. Was she going to lie like she did with Umbridge? Did she know that something like that was not going to work with Voldemort?

"There is … a way," she said haltingly, clutching at Ron's hand. "If breaking the curse is the thing you desire the most … then … then you should learn all about the procedure once you look into the Mirror of Erised."

"It must be still there, in the basement," she added hastily. "I don't think Professor Dumbledore removed it."

There was a momentary silence during which Harry gaped at her, once again astounded by her wit. And he was not the only one.

Even Voldemort gazed down at her speculatively, while caressing the Elder Wand with his long white fingers.

"Very interesting," he said then and his gaze returned to Harry. "Obviously, Potter knows how to pick the excellence even among dirt."

"Well then," he continued, "I shall return to the Mirror of Erised and Harry Potter will accompany me. If I obtain what I desire, I may spare your worthless lives. Severus … keep a watchful eye on them before I return."

"Harry, don't...!" Neville began again, but Snape silenced him with a flick of his wand, so the only sound that could be heard was Ron's quiet moaning.

Hermione, who sat by her boyfriend's side, was aghast. She watched Harry transfixed, shaking her head.

But Harry easily accepted this kind of development. It could be worse, much worse, in fact. He was not afraid to be alone with Voldemort, although the wizard was treating him like his enemy again. Harry knew he could handle this – and so he gave Hermione a short nod and then he turned away and set forth to the forbidden part of the castle.

The only thing that kept bothering him was the strange gaze Snape was giving him as he walked past him. He had no clue what it meant, but it was giving him chills.

On their way to the basement, Voldemort was walking quietly two steps behind him and Harry found it very distracting. He did not break the tense silence despite hundreds of words that wanted to escape his lips. Harry fought them all; being a young Gryffindor, he valued his pride highly and he was nowhere ready to demean himself.

They gradually descended through all the rooms that previously secured the Sorcerer's Stone. This time they were all empty and Harry noticed that they also appeared smaller and somewhat less significant.

Perhaps it was because everything appeared smaller and less significant with Lord Voldemort by his side.

Harry suppressed that thought immediately and entered the last chamber.

Miraculously, it was still there. The Mirror of Erised stood in the middle, perhaps a little more dusty than the last time, but certainly the same size and magnificence. Apparently, only the exceptional objects drowned the Dark Lord in comparison.

Harry took a couple more steps to it, but then he changed his mind. After all, he knew what … _who_ he would see in there. Why should he torture himself even more?

"Lost courage, Potter?" Voldemort sneered, speaking to him first.

Harry had braced himself for that.

"No … it's just … I already know what my parents looked like. Hagrid gave me their album."

When Voldemort did not reply, Harry gestured towards it. "In any case," he said, "we're not here because of me. Aren't you going to have a look?"

The Dark Lord raised his narrow chin and observed Harry intently.

"No," he said then, his voice like an ice.

"I came here for the cure," he clarified. "It's almost the time."

"That's right," Harry said cautiously. "Therefore, I suggest you'd better do what Hermione said, if you want to know more..."

A cold, humourless laugh cut through Harry like a sword, making him wince.

"Do what the Mudblood said...," Voldemort repeated, mirth dissipating fast from his voice.

"You really believed it, didn't you?" he asked quietly. "You honestly thought that I would entrust my life … my soul … and my future into your hands. Into the hands of my enemies... Incredible."

"I'm not sure … I understand," Harry whispered, forcing himself to hold his stance as he took a grip of the handle of his wand that protruded from the back pocket of his jeans.

"It was a trick, Harry," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. "Our treaty was nothing but a lie that only served to keep you preoccupied. Naturally, I _know_ what the cure is and I _know_ what to do about it. I found the answers in the books myself. All I had to do was to keep this cure safely within my reach, so I could use it at my will when the right time came."

Unable to stop himself, Harry took a nervous step back.

"The ultimate sacrifice," Voldemort whispered. "I was a little worried when the Mudblood said it so openly... I was concerned that you had reached the correct conclusion as well – which would've explained your hasty flight from the castle yesterday night. But then again, I can see now that my worries were unwarranted. You have no idea of what I am talking about."

Another step back, much longer than the previous one.

"Yes, Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered, his red eyes gleaming. "It is you. _You are my cure_."

"What?!" Harry laughed nervously at that absurdity. "Seriously, how can I be a cure for anything? That's just silly!"

"Oh, but it makes perfect sense, in fact," Voldemort replied solemnly, conjuring a small table before pulling something out of his robes.

Harry instantly recognized Helga's cup. Cracked, bleeding and badly damaged, it looked even worse than the last time he saw it. It seemed like a miracle that it was still in one piece. The Dark Lord placed it on the table with great care and reached into his robes again.

"You're the only piece of my soul that remains unaffected by the curse."

"What? What do you mean? You've still got Nagini … and the diadem!" Harry hurled out before he could stop himself.

Voldemort smiled mirthlessly.

"Tell me, Harry, have you ever heard of Merwyn's Law of Magical Interactions?"

"Yes, I have," Harry snapped, remembering Hermione's words. "It advises you against placing more than one enchantment upon a single object. Also, the strength of the interactions grows with the power of those enchantments."

"Precisely," Voldemort whispered and tilted his head aside a little. "Anyway, many great wizards and witches died because they experimented too much and omitted this particular law."

Harry said nothing but he afforded himself a brief thought of Luna's mother.

"I was always very careful not to repeat their mistakes. Sometimes, I tempted the fates, I admit, but never to the point of risking my existence. And I would continue to do so, if _Bill Weasley_ did not place that curse upon my Horcrux!"

"And so you had him killed!" Harry yelped, furious. "It was you after all! And I thought … I thought you've got nothing to do with it!"

Voldemort, in the meantime, pulled another object out of his robes. This time it was Rowena's diadem, and to Harry's great shock, it looked just as impaired as Helga's cup.

"Since all the Horcruxes are connected through me, it infected me as well. And what's worse, the curse has been reverted," Voldemort hissed between his teeth, ignoring Harry's outcry. "It's sucking my magic and my soul out of everything … but _you_ , Harry Potter. Only you seem to be unaffected! I was wondering why is that so, but the answer is rather obvious. You were created by a mistake. You were not _intended_. The dark magic I used upon you was not aimed to create you. Hence, there is nothing to interact with the curse … and that also makes you a perfect cure."

He placed the diadem next to the cup and slowly turned to Harry.

"And so the piece of my soul that has turned against me will save me now."

Harry was just about to pull the wand out of his jeans, when his fingers gave a sudden spastic jerk around the handle and let it go.

He took one last staggering step back.

"You..."

The realization hit him like a speeding train.

"You brought me here to kill me," Harry managed to whisper over the huge boulder that formed inside his throat. "You've been planning this from the very beginning. From … the very start!"

Harry's mind went briefly blank. Could it be that he was this naïve and inconsiderate? He wanted to scream, he wanted to rave, but all he could do was stare at Voldemort in numb shock, while hating that tiny part of himself that still hoped the man would deny it.

Now. _Please now._

"The ultimate sacrifice," Voldemort said quietly. "There can be no higher sacrifice than killing a piece of myself."

It all made horrible sense now. Dumbledore's previous words boomed in Harry's eerily empty skull, whirling together with Snape's meaningful glares and comments and Aberforth's warning...

"I was so looking forward to tell you that, Harry Potter! I wanted to see your face when I revealed you the truth! It was my intended revenge … and my final victory! Cutting away that redundant piece of myself that is attached to you will help to save the healthy rest! Ah, your silly friends failed to destroy me – they destroyed you instead!"

Harry's heart died.

He could not hurt. Dead people did not hurt – and he was dead.

"Bravo," Harry heard his own dull, deadened voice distantly. "You've _destroyed_ me. You _won_ , Riddle. Congratulation."

An ominous silence fell after his words, but Harry barely registered it.

"Why aren't you celebrating?" he said in an empty voice a few moments later. "Ah, right, I am still alive, I forgot. What are you waiting for, then?"

The previously immobile muscles on Voldemort's face twitched as if chasing away an irksome fly.

"Aren't you going to put up one last desperate fight?" he finally asked.

"Why?" Harry laughed hollowly and spread his arms, before letting them drop. "Why should I bother? Why should I try to stop you from making this final mistake? Why should I care? Why should I waste my breath by explaining that killing me is not an act of sacrifice but just another murder? Why should I continue being the same idiot I was up to now, who tried to show you that he could possibly care about you … that he could … perhaps even... Nah, you're hopeless, Riddle. _Hopeless._ Dumbledore was right. And I'm done with this. I am done with you. It's finished. Over. Just do it and kill me now. I'm sick of my fucked-up life anyway."

The silence spiralled horribly. Voldemort said nothing for a long moment and Harry could see he had serious trouble digesting his words.

"What are you saying?" he whispered at last and Harry, curiously enough, detected traces of doubts in his cold voice.

"It doesn't matter. You've already decided."

"What you don't see is that I have to do it, Potter! I have to, do you understand?" Voldemort hissed angrily and his face, his gestures showed the fear and uncertainty that bubbled close underneath the surface.

"I am not stopping you," Harry said plainly. "I am only wondering about one thing. If this is what you've been planning from the very start, what am I supposed to think about the yesterday evening then? You were there with me and you… You risked everything! Re-uniting your soul with the piece that is locked in here," Harry pointed at his forehead, "would have easily spoiled your grand plan completely. I don't get it. Why – just why did you do it?"

Voldemort's chest heaved with his fast breath. This time it was the Dark Lord, who seemed to be tormented by emotions while Harry's dead heart was cold and unresponsive.

"It was … just a momentarily weakness that I have managed to overcome like I had all the others in my past," he said at last.

"I see," Harry snorted dully. "If that is so, why are you so upset?"

Voldemort stepped forward, pointing his wand directly at Harry's chest.

Harry met his gaze squarely.

"You must understand, Potter," the taller of the two spoke again, "that what had happened in that bathroom was an inexcusable mistake. I gave in the temptation and I consider it a personal failure."

"Funny way how to think of the happiest moment in your life. You told me so, remember?" Harry noted idly.

When a frustrated cry escaped Voldemort's lips, Harry knew he hit the nerve dead on.

"Now, why are you so mad?" Harry continued, shaking his head. "I'm just repeating your words, am I not? When it comes to this, there's another thing you told me. You said that I will regret it tomorrow, but look at me – I'm not regretting anything. The question is, what will _you_ regret in those long, _endless_ days to come?"

"Silence, Potter! _Be quiet!_ It must be done! It must be!" Voldemort wheezed out, the Elder Wand trembling with the effort he put into his words. The red eyes were ablaze with pain that was quenching everything else.

And Harry only wondered why it touched his dead heart so much.

The tense moment was broken by an ominous crack coming from the cup on the small table.

Driven by instincts, Voldemort looked back and encountered his reflection in the Mirror of Erised that stood beside them, long forgotten.

His cat-like pupils dilated instantly and he stared at himself in the mirror, shock written all over his face.

The moment was, however, dispelled fast.

The red eyes fastened upon Harry's green ones again, frenzied, yet carrying a final decision.

"I..."

Slowly, the pale hand holding the Elder Wand sank lower and lower still.

"I can't."

Harry did not even register those quiet words at first. But he could not miss the loud clatter of the Elder Wand against the floor and neither the cold hands on his face and in his hair … and the chalky lips, chilly and dry, brushing against his ear.

_"I can't!"_

A desperate wail, barely reminding of Voldemort's voice.

"Oh, God," Harry gasped, as his abruptly reawakened heart tried to shatter his ribcage.

He circled his arms around the tall, agonized man, holding him closer and closer still. He did not know what was worse, whether the sounds of the shattering Horcruxes or Voldemort's cries of terror.

And Harry had to share all that dreadfulness through their mental link. It was insane; the pictures of something evil and hideous creeping from the dark, reaching for him, breaking his bones, tearing his flesh apart and slurping on his blood, dark and viscous...

His stomach lurched violently.

"Stop it! That's enough! Leave him alone!" Harry cried, still holding on to Voldemort. Sadly, he soon became too paralysed and the man slipped from his grasp, delirious, screaming something nonsensical before he lunged at the Mirror viciously.

Their combined weight shifted it from the balance and then, as if in a slow motion, the Mirror and Voldemort toppled over, coming to the ground with a deafening clash and glass break.

Harry instinctively covered his face to protect it from a massive cloud of jingling shards. Then he quickly ran forward to kneel beside the unmoving wizard, his gut clenching at the sight of bright red blood spilling underneath him.

"Tom," he said urgently, his loud voice surprising him in the sudden quietness.

He rolled him over to his back carefully, checking his injuries.

The bleeding was fortunately not as bad as Harry had feared.

"Can you hear me?" he whispered, listening for the breath in his chest, but he was not sure he heard anything.

Harry quickly used his shirt to wipe the patches of blood from the marble-white face and those large, spidery hands. Then he remembered his wand and, distracted as he was, tried to use a proper healing spell. When it finally took a desired effect, he slowly released his hold on Voldemort's black robes, watching his head loll back upsettingly.

"Can you hear me, Tom?" he implored, his throat becoming tighter and tighter with worries. He did not know who was he supposed to ask for help and he felt completely lost.

But then the closed eyelids quivered a little and Harry clutched the pale hands and rubbed those long, cold fingers in hope to bring more life into them.

"Step aside, Potter. Now."

Completely losing the track of his surroundings, Harry gave a tremendous start of surprise. He scrambled to his feet and spun around, raising his wand in the direction of the newcomer.

"Snape?" he gasped when he recognized the man that stepped out of the shadows.

"Still alive, Potter?" Snape murmured quietly.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked lowly, coming to stand in front of Voldemort protectively.

"Luckily, I don't have to answer any of your questions, Potter. Now, _step aside_ , or else I will make you," he said in a voice that could move a mountain.

Harry, however, was not a mountain. He was someone far more resilient than that.

"No," he said resolutely. "You step aside, _sir_. And lower your wand!"

"Potter," Snape's dark eyes flicked behind Harry. "This is my last warning."

"Mine too," Harry countered quietly.

Snape pressed his lips tightly together, but hesitated. Harry honestly did not expect to have such an effect on him, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was a gentle, cool touch, not aggressive or invasive in any way.

"That will do," a high clear voice said and Harry glanced up to see Voldemort stand beside him, the Elder Wand in his hand again.

Harry visibly sagged with relief, turning back to Snape. As he did so, he almost missed how the Dark Lord leaned down to him and lightly grazed the skin at his temple with his dry lips. The simplest hint of affection was still enough for Snape to give him a heart-attack.

Or so it looked, at least.

His sallow face framed by two curtains of greasy black hair prolonged on and on and when it seemed to be at least two feet long, Voldemort raised his head a little and asked softly.

"Is something the matter, Severus?"

"Not at all, my Lord. I beg your pardon, my surprise is completely out of place," Snape managed to reply smoothly, while bowing slightly.

"Your apology is accepted," Voldemort said loftily, moving his hand down Harry's arm. "Still, perhaps you could explain what are you doing here and why does Harry Potter feel such a fierce need to protect me in your presence?"

Snape did not even blink as he calmly replied.

"I came here, my Lord, to offer you my assistance, if you needed it. I did only leave my assigned post because Draco Malfoy had volunteered to take care of your remaining captives Granger, Weasley and Longbottom. Concerning Potter's whimsical behaviour, I have no answer for that, my Lord."

"I see," Voldemort whispered, apparently well accustomed to Snape's bulletproof answers.

"Perhaps Harry can tell me more about that, then..."

Harry quickly licked his dry lips; he had feared it would come to this.

He did not trust himself to speak, for he knew that his words would hardly pass Voldemort's roentgen inspection. So he just shook his head slowly, watching Snape silently instead.

"Well ... in that case, you may leave, Severus," Voldemort said quietly, surprising Harry by dropping the topic without another inquiry.

Seeing Snape back out fast, Harry turned to Voldemort and spoke hastily. "Wait a moment... Let them go. You don't need them anymore, do you? Let Neville, Ron and Hermione go."

Voldemort gave him a peculiar look and for a moment Harry thought that his request would be denied.

"If you believe they are going to be safer out there," Voldemort finally said before looking at Snape.

"My Lord?"

"Do as he says, Severus. It is my wish."

Snape bowed to him curtly and left as silently as he appeared there.

And Harry watched him, wondering what the hell was that about. Eventually, he could not resist it any longer and had to ask.

"There is a rebellion under way at the Ministry, Harry. Not out in the open yet, but close enough."

"A rebellion? But the Order..."

"Do you really believe that the Order of the Phoenix would have participated in the death of its member? Although ... now that I consider it-"

"You mean Bill Weasley? It was the rebels who killed him? But why? Who are they?"

Gazing directly into his red eyes, Harry could not miss how tired Voldemort appeared.

"It's the Death Eaters, aren't they?" he insisted. "But why should they act against your..."

"I'm not certain who's standing behind it yet and I cannot simply slay everyone who's been Imperiused at this point," Voldemort said in an insipid voice. "Moreover, as you can see, I had to stop my investigation and return here to deal with … this," he made a gesture towards the poor remnants of his Horcruxes.

The silence prolonged for a while, but it was not an uncomfortable one. The ice-cold sensation that was coming off Voldemort before was gone. Seeing the scraps of the previously carefully collected trophies from the Hogwarts's founders, Harry had no choice but to admit that the Dark Lord had, in the end, picked him over all his Horcruxes. It was something incredible. Harry was not ready to even start believing it. He felt … he had never felt like that before. It was not exactly happiness, knowing how much Tom had sacrificed...

_Sacrificed..._

"Wait!" Harry gasped out suddenly. "The curse! It's been broken at last, hasn't it?"

Voldemort tore his eyes off the small table to glance at Harry. His eyes were haunted, carrying an expression of someone who just went through Hell and back.

"The price was too high," he replied.

"Does it mean that the Horcruxes simply…?" Harry tried to place the question, but I got stuck in his throat. He cleared it loudly and tried again.

"Did they die?"

"Something worse … if that is even possible."

_"Worse?"_

Voldemort's expression changed slightly as his red eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Why does it matter to you so much? You're … a very confusing young man."

"You _still_ have to ask?"

The Dark Lord sucked in a loud breath, apparently frustrated again.

"I- Potter, I don't know what you want from me. I've never..."

"Nah, it's all right," Harry stopped him softly. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine with almost anything as long as I can believe you again."

"Meaning you want to believe me?" Voldemort laughed hollowly. "After everything I've done to you?"

"Try me."

Harry's resolute words made the Dark Lord look at him properly.

"All right. Later, then. We will talk later. I need to rest now," he said quietly then and extended his bony hand to hide it in Harry's warm armpit.

"Take me somewhere safe, Harry. Surely you must understand why I don't wish to stay here any longer."


	18. Private Drive

xxxxx

Harry had nothing specific in mind when he agreed to take Voldemort somewhere safe. He only gave it a nod because he also desired to leave the Mirror Chamber as soon as possible. Otherwise, he was too preoccupied thinking about the latest incident and annoyed at himself for failing to disclose Voldemort's plan at some point (the indications and warnings seemed clear enough now). The fact that he was blinded by something else than his usual recklessness did not make him feel much better.

However, before a rusty knife of shame could turn in Harry's chest again, before he could curse himself for his juvenile ignorance, the memory of Lord Voldemort's trauma flicked before his eyes. It was just a reflection of what the Dark Lord went through before, dim and unfocused, yet it carried a clear reminder of the horrors that awaited his soul for the crimes that he had committed upon the others and himself.

Harry could not miss this new, sudden awareness, this unvoiced dread that made Voldemort's pale, emaciated hands tremble. The strain in that usually inert face showed how enormous the wizard's distress was and Harry could only wish he knew the means to pacify it.

Again and again Harry tried to wrap his mind around it, hoping to find the clue as to why things took this unexpected turn. Lord Voldemort had never spared anyone he decided to kill, ever. The man felt no remorse and no regrets. Therefore, his decision not to act, when the sole existence of his Horcruxes, his anchors to immortality, was at stake, had astounded Harry. There was perhaps much more to Tom Riddle than he, or Dumbledore, or anyone else for that matter, ever dared to presume. And Harry could not simply leave him alone like this: traumatized and hurting. Personal reasons aside, Harry knew that the Dark Lord would eventually relieve his stress on some innocent victim who crossed his path by mistake.

Harry could not let that happen.

All in all, he was back to square one.

A safe hideout.

Now that he felt compelled to consider it, Harry realized that the number of possible options was very limited. He tried to make the best choice regardless; yet, a rational part of him was questioning his sanity now as they appeared, side by side, in a dusty driveway right in front of a familiar house whose sign read: _4 Privet Drive_.

Harry pushed his imminent doubts aside and began searching the house for the signs of being lived-in. He was most relieved when he did not find any. Apparently, the Dursleys were not allowed to return home just yet.

The windows were muddy, the hedge unkempt and the grass on the usually tidy lawns was slowly reaching monstrous proportions. Harry was certain that if Aunt Petunia were here, she would be already screeching at him from the kitchen window, ordering him to start mowing it immediately.

Harry tossed his head at the memory; it's been almost a year since he left this place and yet it felt as if it were only yesterday that he took a seat in a sidecar of Sirius's old motorbike and glanced back for one last time, giving this place definite good-bye...

Darn, he knew why he had sworn never to come back. His only luck was that every member of the Order knew about his resolution. If any of them were reckless enough to search for him, Harry was certain this would be the last place of their visit.

Also, since number four, Privet Drive, was just an ordinary Muggle house now, the chances of someone trying to find the ruler of the pure-blood wizarding society in here were close to none.

As hard as he found it to be, this was indeed the best hiding place he could think of and he said that much to Voldemort, who kept watching the building distrustfully.

"Oh, well," Harry sighed a moment later, when he received no reply. "Go back to Malfoy Manor if you must, but don't expect me to-"

"I do not wish to return there just yet," Voldemort interrupted him coldly, his voice calm and even. His composed reaction surprised Harry a lot, but that notion was lost when Harry heard him mutter something about 'a gang of traitors' and 'dead Nagini'. He waited in silence for the man to elaborate on it, but he did not.

Finally, a moment later, Voldemort's black cape slowly turned to Harry.

"The Order must keep tabs on this place," he said, watching Harry cast a quick Freezing Charm on the alarm system.

"Nah, they don't track this place anymore," Harry shook his head and unlocked the door with another movement of his wand. Then he looked over the trees at Mrs. Figg's desolate house shrivelling in the distance. "Everyone had left long before I did. Staying here would equal suicide, wouldn't it?"

"It certainly feels that way," Voldemort commented sourly, but proceeded inside, while Harry sniggered at his remark. The dark wizard peered into the kitchen and the living room and finally, when he noticed no apparent danger, he turned his bright red eyes back to Harry.

"I made you laugh," he said then, watching Harry curiously. "And it was not even a laughing matter."

"Oh, but it was," Harry cracked another smile and passed him on his way to the living room, where he started removing the covers from the furniture. "Anyway, make yourself at home."

"Rather not."

Harry chuckled again, watching him prowl upstairs to check the bedrooms for possible unwanted guests. Then he went to the kitchen and plugged in all necessary appliances. The instant humming of the fridge notified him that the Dursleys still paid their bills. Satisfied, Harry opened the metallic door, looking over the empty compartments. He needed to do the shopping soon - his stomach was becoming rather excited about the idea - but he needed to change first.

His eyes fell on the stained sleeves of his shirt.

The sight of dried blood on his clothes and hands made him pull the garment over his head briskly and wash himself in the sink. Then he threw the messy clothes into an empty linen basket beside a washing machine and finally set out to find some spare clothing. Harry knew that Petunia could not possibly pack everything she wanted which meant that most of the older clothes was still somewhere in that massive wardrobe standing right next to the cupboard under the stairs.

He strode over to it, flung its door open and grabbed the first T-shirt on top of the stack.

Unfortunately, it was one of those Dudley used to wear during his rebellious years and Harry cringed at the picture that was printed on it.

No, he was not going to wear anything saying 'If you find me dead make it look I died doing something cool'. He would look like an idiot – which he always did in Dudley's clothing, anyway. Worse, Harry was sure Voldemort would definitely misinterpret the meaning since he...

"How fitting."

Harry dropped it.

Slowly, he turned around to meet the intent red stare.

"It's not mine," Harry said hotly.

"Certainly."

"It's not mine!"

"Apparently, since the size would perhaps fit an elephant calf."

Harry snorted, appeased, and turned back to search the wardrobe for something more appropriate.

"The house's safe, I trust?" he asked when he finally found an old light-blue T-shirt that seemed to be more or less wearable. He pulled it over his head with some difficulties.

"It is vacant, Potter. That hardly makes it safe."

Harry adjusted his glasses that nearly slipped from his nose and stretched the tight neckline of his new outfit that clung fast to his arms and chest, but left the area of his flat belly quite loose. He took a deep breath, testing the quality of the seams.

"I'm well aware of that," he said then, noticing Voldemort's averted gaze.

"What's in there?" the man asked authoritatively a moment later, gesturing towards the cupboard door.

"Oh, that used to be my private residence until I was eleven," Harry replied grimly. "Cosy, isn't it?" he added when Voldemort opened the small door and peered inside.

"What do you mean your private residence?"

"I used to live in here," Harry said more coldly, gesturing towards the dark space filled with boxes, shoes and umbrellas, "pretending that I don't exist. If you think that you're the only one who could make my life a living hell, think again. There were times when I wouldn't mind to blame you for this too, but now I know that it was my uncle and aunt's fault, nobody else's."

"You were mistreated by your Muggle relatives?" Voldemort said and slowly rose to his full height.

"Mistreated," Harry snorted and combed his black hair distractedly. "Let me put it this way. My uncle would gladly bend his rigid spine and kiss your flawless rear if he were allowed to dance upon my grave. Not a standard way of upbringing, was it?"

"He wanted you dead?" Voldemort hissed, his red eyes gleaming maliciously.

"He certainly had a couple of vivid dreams about it. I could tell whenever he started the day with: 'If _the boy_ weren't here, we could do this and that and everything would be _so_ much better.'"

"If that is so, why didn't you kill him?" Voldemort asked, truly intrigued for once.

"Hah! Because, I'm not you, Tom!" Harry laughed out hollowly. "I don't kill people just because they bother me. I can handle their dislike – for the most part. Besides, there's a distinct line between wanting someone dead and taking measures to achieve that. Uncle Vernon never crossed it … although... Although, we both know that unconcern and neglect can do as much damage as open hostility," Harry sighed, shaking his head as though to scare off a bothering fly.

He squared up his shoulders then, diverting the course of his thoughts.

"Anyway, since we'll be staying here for now, I'll take care of the necessities. We need some groceries and other stuff, so before I'll go get it, I need to know if there's anything you want-"

"Snape told me differently," Voldemort said, stopping him short. "He said that you were a spoiled, pampered brat basking in your fame and glory."

"Yeah," Harry scratched his cheek and made a face. "That really sounds like Snape's words. Only he was not as much talking about me as he was talking about my father. Snape simply … cannot see the difference."

"I can see it quite clearly," Voldemort whispered, watching him.

Harry felt his spine stiffen at those words.

"Good for you," he snapped coldly and strode away to the living room. He was nowhere ready to discuss his father, or parents in general, with Lord Voldemort. And even if he were, what would be the point of a such discussion? What happened, happened and it could not be undone, no matter how many hateful words would be spilled about it.

And Harry refused to think about it now: instead, he approached a dusty bookshelf that stood in a corner of the living room and pulled out the most voluminous book. He flipped it open and took out all the banknotes that were inserted among the pages.

"The Dursleys avoided books like the plague," he explained when Voldemort joined him. "This bookshelf was the best place to hide the money."

"Did you steal it?" the Dark Lord asked matter-of-factly.

"Hell, no! Stealing their food bothered me enough."

Harry stuffed the currency in his back pocket and shook is head again. "It's mine."

He could perhaps tell him the very boring story about taking care of Mrs. Figg's flowers and cats whenever she was out of town over the long, dreadful summers. She regularly gave him a couple of pounds for his effort. Yet, he found it too inconsequential to prattle about it and besides, the less Voldemort knew about Mrs. Figg, the better for her.

Harry decided to stay silent and rather stretched his tight T-shirt again while watching his snaky Magnificence – and he did not know why it hit him so hard right then – that he was seeing Voldemort standing in the Dursleys' living room, looking perfectly nonchalant as ever, regardless the blood on his face, his ripped robes and ruined cloak.

Shifting on his feet, Harry cleared his dry throat, attempting to think normally in spite of this highly abnormal situation.

"Eh - I'll be going then," he said, while trying to shake off the feeling of the latter's eyes on him. Harry refused to respond to the warmth that kept pooling in his belly, no matter how many butterflies revolted in his stomach against his decision. But as he passed the Dark Lord, a cool hand brushed his skin in a manner that was either entirely accidental or carefully planned to appear that way. Knowing the other man, Harry stopped and waited.

"Apparate," Voldemort said shortly. "You should avoid being seen by anyone who can recognize you."

"All right," Harry nodded. "But the same goes for you too. I would be most upset if I found a dead Muggle - or anyone for that matter - at the entrance door upon my arrival."

"I'll try to resist the temptation, then."

"How very generous of you."

"You'd better skip that ironic tone, Potter."

"I will if you will."

Voldemort paused, considering Harry for a second.

"Careful, Harry," he said then. "I punished my Death Eaters for far lesser offence than that."

A spontaneous grin tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth before he could stop it.

"Lucky for me that I am not your Death Eater, then."

Again, the Dark Lord seemed to have a hard time coping with being smiled at. Perhaps it was not a common response to his threats.

"All right then, I'll be back soon," Harry said when the silence stretched on, increasing the fizzing tension. The air between them was crackling with electricity that was about to short-circuit.

Harry hurried to Apparate; he did not want Voldemort to think that he was actually waiting for something and so he closed his eyes and prepared himself to turn on the spot.

"Wait a second, Potter," the dark wizard interrupted his concentration blatantly by grasping Harry's hand with a speed of an attacking snake.

"You forgot that there is a pending punishment."

Harry raised his wand instantly and took a quick step back that brought him right against the wall. Voldemort, however, did not draw out the Deathstick yet. Instead, his face breached Harry's personal space bubble and his lips, cool and dry, brushed against Harry's, right at the spot where the previous smirk died out.

Alarmed, Harry jerked his head back fast, hitting the wall hard.

Among the vicious swears that escaped his mouth, Harry noticed that Voldemort recoiled just as quickly, obviously not expecting to be denied.

Harry's mind was reeling; he was completely astonished.

All right, this was certainly not their first kiss, not by far, but Harry was more than hesitant to participate in another one again. Furthermore, it never occurred to him that Voldemort would actually want to snog him, without a profound reason or an audience to humiliate him.

"What the hell?" he finally yelped, rubbing his lips and the sore back of his head in turns.

The Dark Lord straightened his back instantly, a mask of indifference falling back into place.

"It seems I was mistaken when I thought you might be interested," he said in a voice that had a quality of a northern storm. He took a brisk step back, turning his pale, flat face away.

"What-? Is that a joke? You thought I'd be interested mere two hours after you tried to kill me again?!" Harry exploded, fisting his hair. His lips still tingled pleasantly and that feeling went straight to his groin, making him groan inwardly.

"So, that settles it then, doesn't it?" Voldemort snapped.

"You bet it does! What else did you expect?" Harry hurled out, still frenzied, though the initial shock began to dwindle away.

"Nothing," the man replied icily, his cat-like eyes flitting back to Harry, irate and upset, convicting him of a lie for once.

"Nothing at all," he repeated coldly, as if to disprove it.

"Then why did you...?"

"I said NOTHING, Potter!"

Harry flinched visibly. That blistering anger cut through him like a knife through melted butter, giving him another of the disturbing views into Voldemort's desolate existence. It was a black, bottomless maze of memories, one worse than the other, with no discernible feelings except fear, anger, hatred and loneliness.

That unpleasant moment was gone in a wink of an eye, yet Harry was as if petrified, leaning against the wall with a hand on his pulsing scar. Then, slowly, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a deep, quivery breath.

"It's not a life what you have," he said, gazing at Voldemort. "It's a freakin' nightmare!"

The Dark Lord bristled with anger, barely controlling himself.

"Never do this again, Potter! Stay out of my mind!" he hissed and wrapped his cold fingers around Harry's throat.

"As if I could stop it!" Harry yelped back, trying to ease the pressure on his windpipe.

The other man did not speak, only breathed hard and clenched his jaws repeatedly. Then his face slowly evened out, regaining its calm, and the chilly fingers released Harry, while the other hand drew out the Elder Wand.

"Yeah, that's right!" Harry spluttered out when he saw it. "Just go on! Curse me! That's the only thing you can do really w… huh?"

Harry suddenly realized that sometime during his rant Voldemort flicked the wand and undid the button of his jeans. And now, to Harry's utter bewilderment, he sank to his knees and pulled that garment down to Harry's knees together with his underwear in one fluent movement.

"What are you-?"

Harry nearly choked on his heart when he saw the Dark Lord lean forward to rub his pale, bony cheek against his flaccid member, distantly reminding him of a curious kitten trying to have a sweet spot behind its ear scratched. Really, if Harry were not shocked beyond any measure, he would probably find it hilarious.

But that face was so cool and smooth … and the friction _right there_ felt beyond amazing.

"Hah!" Harry gasped out when he suddenly felt the dry lips and sharp teeth graze teasingly along his hardening flesh.

"How unexpected - I thought you didn't want to do this again, Harry," Voldemort whispered slyly against the quickly forming erection.

Harry desperately tried to formulate the words in his mind before they could dissipate in moans.

"I … ugh … I'm not the one on my knees before you," he said hurriedly before gasping again.

Voldemort hissed angrily and Harry immediately knew he would be soon subjected to further punishment. He only feared that he would actually appreciate it at this point.

Wild excitement racked up and down Harry's spine as he watched over his heaving chest how the thin, white lips fell open, taking him in impossibly far and finally twining around him with suave precision.

Harry's head fell backward, colliding with the wall again – and this time he did not even feel it. It was just too much - he was going to dissolve in that marvellous feeling like a lump of sugar in a cup of hot tea. Those chilling lips slid further, clutching him hard close to the base, but the back of Voldemort's throat was so amazingly warm and wet that Harry practically shook with need to thrust into it.

"I- I can't-!" he moaned, unable to contain the words any longer.

Voldemort hummed with satisfaction and closed his eyes, showing Harry how much he enjoyed doing this. And yet, he remained so still that he was literally driving Harry crazy. His hands were locked on Harry's hips, preventing any movement. Finally, after a minute of that gradually increasing torture, he pulled back ever so slowly, sucking hard as he retreated. Harry was certain he was going to perish from that sensation.

Giving him one last teasing lick over the tip, Voldemort gracefully rose to his feet and smoothed out his robes as if nothing happened. Then he leaned close to Harry's face again, a wicked smile adorning his lips.

"I hope you enjoyed your punishment, Harry," he said softly, his bright red eyes teeming with mischief. "That shall teach you to respect Lord Voldemort's privacy."

"If ... if you think I'm going to beg...," Harry whispered, squirming.

"Oh no, you won't. You're a way too proud for that. Gryffindor through and through, right?" Voldemort said, dismissing him with a wave of his pale hand. "I want you to buy me a newspaper, Potter. I wonder what those stupid Muggles think about the recent casualties."

"Casualties of your regime," Harry said sharply, watching Voldemort sink into Uncle Vernon's armchair and open the book which he left on the coffee table.

"I wish you'd name just one intelligible reason why you still care about them so much," the dark wizard scoffed disinterestedly.

"All right," Harry retorted hotly. "Muggles are people. Just like you and I."

Seeing the Dark Lord leap out of the armchair, fully enraged, soothed the persistent throbbing of Harry's neglected organ a little.

He was not the only one frustrated now. Good.

Although, unlike Voldemort, he still needed a cold shower.

xxxxx

Harry had spent nearly two hours browsing the isles of a local grocery store. It took him that long to get his anger (and arousal) fully under his control. With his head clear once again, he began wondering how Voldemort could have such an impact on him. He was supposed to be contemplating the situation at the Ministry and the rebellion that very likely led to Bill Weasley's demise instead of his sexual fantasies, dammit!

His behaviour was not improving at all. He was losing his focus.

Harry decided to try harder next time.

When he finally Apparated back with two large paper bags of groceries under his arms, he expected Voldemort to appear any moment, complaining about his delay, or at least making sure that it was really him and not some impostor. Therefore, it surprised him a great deal that there was no sign of the Dark Lord. Suspicious, Harry placed the purchase on the kitchen desk and scurried into the living room, a wand in his hand. Again, there was no one in there - except of Voldemort's travelling cloak that was discarded on the beige sofa in front of the huge flat-screen TV.

At that moment, Harry was certain that Voldemort was still somewhere in the house.

He walked just halfway up the stairs when a strong pong of a sweet odour filled his nose, coming right from the bathroom on the first floor. Releasing the breath he was holding, Harry chuckled with relief and trotted back downstairs, where he took the dirty cloak from the sofa and returned to the kitchen, dropping it into the linen basket.

But then, just when he was about to start unpacking the goods, Harry felt a flicker of curiosity run down his spine like a shudder. He tried to ignore it at first, but it became more and more bothersome...

Unable to resist it any longer, Harry returned to the basket and cautiously started searching the cloak. Voldemort would curse him without hesitation if he caught him searching through his things, but Harry could not simply waste such a unique opportunity.

Just a moment later he was already pulling three little glass vials out of the cloak, opening them one by one and sniffing their content. The first one had to be unfinished Polyjuice Potion: Harry recognized it instantly. He, however, could not think of a single reason why would Voldemort need one. The second one smelled awfully; it could not be possibly for an inner use, unless it was a Vomiting Draught. And the third one … Harry could not smell anything at all. It was a clear, odourless liquid, undetectable and unrecognisable...

"Veritaserum," Harry muttered angrily and poured the whole content into the sink before refilling the vial with tap water. "I should have thought so," he muttered under his breath as he closed the lid and placed the vial back beside the others.

But his curiosity was not satisfied yet. After a quick glance over his shoulder, Harry buried his hand into the cloak again … feeling a warm, cylindrical object brushing against his fingertips. Slowly, he drew it out.

It was a wand.

A yew wand, to be specific.

The horrible, dreadful weapon that murdered his parents.

Harry shuddered involuntarily. Why was Voldemort still carrying it around, when he had the Deathstick for his use? But there was something even more disconcerting about it. The wand was obviously happy in Harry's hand. It even emitted red sparks as he skimmed his fingers over it, giving Harry a proof that it was a brother to his beloved, broken holly wand...

Not willing to form any further bond with the crappy twig, Harry quickly dropped it back to the basket and covered it with the cloak. Now he regretted ever searching those pockets for his discovery brought back the memories he was trying to forget.

To distract himself from guilt and doubt, Harry strode over to the glass-ceramic stove and began preparing a dinner. He cooked a pasta and made a meat sauce, then layered it all in a baking dish and placed it into the preheated oven. As the lasagna began to fill the air with a savoury aroma, Harry stretched his stiff back and looked around. The dinner should be ready for serving in a half an hour, which reminded him that Voldemort still did not come downstairs. Harry understood that the man was still possibly angry with him – yet, he felt a need to go check on him and see whether or not he drowned in Uncle Vernon's bathtub by mistake.

The house was becoming dark now that the last sun rays disappeared behind the horizon. Harry turned on the light in the hall and climbed the stairs, opening the door to the bathroom after a few light knocks. There was no one in there and he noticed that the flowery scent had long since vanished.

"Tom?" Harry asked carefully and pulled his wand out of a habit, rolling it in his palm.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley's bedroom was also empty when Harry checked it the next.

"Voldemort?" Harry asked more loudly and opened the door to his old bedroom.

And finally, there he stood, illuminated by a soft lamplight, holding some paper in his hand and studying it intently.

"What are you doing here?"

Just as Harry asked that question, he realized a couple of things at once.

First of all, he noticed that his old school trunk, which should have been long destroyed by the Dursleys, was still there. That actually made sense, he realized, since he left the house after the Dursleys, not before them.

Next, Harry had no idea what to think of Voldemort's expression. He was just standing there, studying a _photograph_ in his hand – which was another thing that surprised Harry greatly. He was not aware of leaving any personal items behind. He approached the other man who miraculously did not protest when he reached out and took the photo from him.

Harry flipped the picture in his fingers - and felt as if someone just punched him hard. It was his parents again, smiling at him, holding him, a little baby, in their arms.

Harry faltered. The pain, so vicious and blaring, reached his throat, tearing through it with a scream.

"You bloody bastard!" he yelled at him, beside himself, pressing the precious family picture against his chest and holding it there.

Harry did not know how he could possibly forget this photo here – perhaps it slipped out of the album without his notice – but it did not matter now.

"How dare you?!" he seethed, pointing his wand at Voldemort, angry tears building in his eyes. "This is all - _all_ I've got left, do you understand?! This is _everything_ to me! Because they're gone – gone! And it's all your fault you- _you_ -!"

Perhaps it was a good thing that Harry ran out of breath by then.

The eerie silence following his outburst was partly disrupted by an annoying whistling noise. Harry paid it no attention.

"Get out of here!" he spat out, glaring at the silent man, who was, unexpectedly, not responding to his outburst yet. "Just get out of this room before I lose control!"

The Dark Lord took a step towards the door, but only one.

"I find it somewhat curious," he said then, his voice cool as ever. "If this is how you feel about me, why haven't you tried to kill me yet?"

Harry choked on the emotional pressure that swathed his insides. All that escaped his hurting throat was just another groan.

"You have wasted too many perfect chances, Potter," Voldemort continued persistently. "Why?"

"I keep asking myself the very same question!" Harry snapped, watching him heatedly.

The silence stretched on, heavy and tense, and so did the obnoxious whistling and rattling.

Finally, Harry came over to his bed and sank onto it, taking his head in his hands. The source of that annoying noise was somewhere beside him and Harry found himself looking at his old Sneakoscope, a gift from Ron for his thirteen birthday.

It was repaired - did Voldemort put it back together? And if yes, why did he do that?

But it did not really matter that much to Harry; instead, he tried to focus his thoughts again.

He glanced back at the photo, running his fingers over it.

"I don't know what is this ... thing between us," he said brokenly. "I _really_ don't know. I was _so_ looking forward to avenge them..."

Harry raised his head, noticing that Voldemort was not looking at him. He was gazing out of the dark window, bemused.

"But … it's not that simple. I did not look into the Mirror of Erised on purpose. I know I would see you in there – but don't misunderstand me," Harry raised his hand quickly when he saw Voldemort's eyes flick back to him and his mouth open to speak. "The reason may be different than you think."

The Dark Lord remained silent and Harry took it as a sign to continue.

"You probably know that I wanted to become an Auror. I was brought up thinking that an Auror is a hero to be celebrated. But the older I am, the more I learn that they are just mercenaries of the government. Sometimes good … sometimes not as good. It's like doing the Death Eaters' job, only from the other side of the barrier. They're using the same methods to achieve the same results."

Voldemort's silence confirmed his lack of objections.

"I never wanted to become a killing machine. I'm honestly sick of all the deaths that I have caused already. All right, I admit I'm ready to fight and even kill for those I care about, but I cannot stop hoping and wishing for a change ... because I _know_ it doesn't have to be like this. I know that there is this one part of you that understands me completely. And I really believe that as long as there is hope for you, there's hope for _everyone_. It's really important for me, because if I survived this war and became an Auror after all, I would know for sure that _things can change_. I would be certain that there is always another way and not just the obvious or predicted one. Is it … is it hard to understand that?"

The Dark Lord slowly turned his gaze back to the darkness behind the window.

"So," he said after a moment. "You're saying that I am your hope for the future."

"No – I'm saying that you _could be_ ," Harry corrected him. "In theory."

Voldemort shook his head.

"I did not expect you to tell me any of this."

"But of course you did," Harry snorted and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's why you were carrying that bottle of Veritaserum around."

"I _was_?" Voldemort hissed and spun back to him, his eyes narrowing.

"I poured it all into the sink."

"You did _what_?"

"And here it goes again, you see? We keep falling back into the old pattern over and over. It's rather repetitive, isn't it? Why don't you trust me for once instead of relying on everything else all the time?"

"First of all, there is no we, Potter. _We_ does not exist."

"That's right. It doesn't. As long as you believe it."

Voldemort strode over to him and grasped Harry's shirt, yanking him up.

"I killed your parents!" he hissed angrily. "You seemed pretty much aware of it!"

"And yet another step back," Harry wheezed out. "Stop doing this - they were _my_ parents. _I_ have to live with that!"

The mad gleam in Voldemort's eyes slowly died out. Appearing exhausted all of a sudden, the Dark Lord slowly sank on the bed beside Harry.

"And so do I."

There was a long quiet and Harry tested the sound of it. There was indeed no sound; no whistling or rattling of the Sneakoscope - nothing. Surprised, Harry raised his head to look at the man beside him.

"You should know that I saw you in the Mirror too," he said grimly, sliding the Elder Wand between his long fingers over and over again. "Your reflection was … clearly alive, healthy and happy. You are inducing the most ridiculous weaknesses in me, Potter. And instead of resisting them I...," he paused, fishing for the right word, "...relish in them. That's right. I _indulge_ in my frailty like any other fool. It's so shameful..."

"No, it's not...," Harry began, but Voldemort did not seem to be listening to him.

He rose to his feet and looked around carefully, his nostrils wide, sniffing the air.

"Is something the matter?"

"Strange. I smell … _burning_?" the dark wizard whispered softly, as if testing the word.

"Holy shit!" Harry yelped out and sprang to his feet. "The lasagna! I forgot! Damn – _damn_!"

He was already past the doorway, flying downstairs at the top speed. Now he could smell it too; the air was filled with a grey smoke and the stench of burn.

"Damn it!" he cursed again, as he pulled the disaster out of the oven fast. "Shit! There goes the dinner!"

"I did not know you could cook."

Harry looked up at Voldemort who followed him into the kitchen.

"I would hardly call this an example of my cooking skills," Harry snapped, while trying to scratch the scraps off the baking dish.

"I've seen worse."

"You could help me with this."

"Could I?"

"Yeah. We need to improvise quickly. Cut the onion. It's in a drawer under the sink."

Voldemort seemed to be thinking about it only for a second. Then he flicked his wand, summoned the requested vegetable and came over to the kitchen desk, where pulled a knife out of its holder and tested its sharpness against the pad of his thumb.

Realizing that he was staring, Harry turned away, took the leftover meat sauce from the fridge and put it on the stove to heat it up.

"I wonder what would your Death Eaters think if they saw you right now," he ventured then, watching the white fingers and the sharp blade moving fast.

"I'm more surprised that you weren't wondering what would they think if they saw me kneeling in front of you and pleasuring you," Voldemort said simply and poured the minced onion onto the hissing pan.

Harry instantly felt a wave of heat ran up his face and shuddered involuntarily.

"Perhaps I was, but I have no intention to talk about it with anyone," he said quietly.

"I appreciate it."

"All right … so, tell me about Bill," Harry said quickly to distract himself from the memories of that soft, wet, alluring mouth enveloping him seductively.

By the corner of his eyes, he saw Voldemort fold his arms over his chest and lean against the kitchen desk.

"I did not know him at all."

"You planned to kill him for what he did to your Horcrux."

"I planned to _question_ him first."

"Question him about what went wrong?" Harry asked and turned to him fully.

"Wrong? That is an understatement."

"What exactly happened, Tom? You only told me that all your Horcruxes were affected when the curse had been reverted – but where? Back to Bill? Would that be even possible?"

"Since Weasley is dead, I can only speculate now."

"I'm listening."

"A properly created Horcrux is a living object that is linked closely to the creator," Voldemort said quietly, his eyes intent on Harry. "It comprises a great deal of the wizard's stamina."

Harry nodded, taking the pan off the stove and turning on the toaster before paying him full attention again.

"Since the curse that Weasley used basically works on transferring this life force - that can be outwardly seen as magic - into a secluded object, it could not work properly within this setup. The curse's diversion could have been spontaneous at this point. A gradient of magic outpouring itself into whichever object Helga's cup had been in contact with. It could be anything, Potter – absolutely anything."

"Oh."

"Precisely."

"But the curse had been broken, right? Why should it still matter-?"

"Of course it matters, Harry! It's the Dark Magic we're talking about here! Do you think that its effects are gone when it is over? Do you stop hurting after the Cruciatus Curse? Do the dead come back to life?"

Harry winced at that.

"You see," Voldemort said coldly. "It's not becoming any worse, but it doesn't mean that it's becoming any better!"

"So," Harry said, trying to sort things out, "Does it mean that there is, hypothetically, an insanely powerful – _wooden shelf_ – that comprises all the magic that was inside your Horcruxes and the problem is that you don't even know where it is?"

"It's not just my magic, I'm afraid."

"You mean – your _soul_ too? It sucked you out like some bloody Dementor?"

Harry leaned against the desk, absorbing this.

"Is it because the curse was not designed to be used on Horcruxes?"

"It's because the curse was designed to _kill_!"

"I see. You know, the more I think about it, the more it seems to me that someone discovered what's going on here and decided to use it to his or her advantage. It makes sense - since all the Horcruxes were connected through you, they were all affected at the same time and they all met the same fate - except of me, since I was, let's say - unsullied by the Dark Arts. Still, the curse must have weakened you terribly. And someone knows this. That someone also murdered Bill in order to prevent you figuring out how to undo it."

"Fascinating theory," Voldemort hissed, watching Harry take a spoon and spread the finished sauce on top of the toasts. "Who are your suspects?"

"It's not the Order," Harry said firmly.

"And what's your evidence?"

"The Order would never have anything to do with Bill Weasley's death. Never ever. That's just absurd."

"Weasley is not the only one dead, Potter. The goblin, who worked with him in Egypt, met the same fate earlier that day."

"You see!" Harry slammed his fist against the desk. "That just proves it! It must be one of your loony Death Eaters who's got tired of bending their spine before you all the time!"

"Don't speak nonsense! The Death Eaters do not know a thing about the Horcruxes! I never told them!" Voldemort raised his voice. "The Order of the Phoenix, on the other hand, is a different case."

"Forget the Order, okay! I told you it's not them!" Harry retorted.

"Isn't it? And I thought it's just their style to sacrifice their lives for The Greater Good!"

"NO, IT'S NOT!"

They glared at each other for over a minute, before Harry sank onto a chair and took a hesitant bite into one of the toasts.

"Can't you really think of a single person who could possibly gain an access to that information?" he asked tiredly, then.

"You mean anyone except of Severus Snape?"

Harry stopped chewing on his morsel and turned his head to Voldemort, staring at him, petrified.

"You don't trust his intentions when it comes to me, do you?" the Dark Lord whispered, his eyes narrowing.

Harry quickly looked back at his plate. _Snape._ Such a thought did not even cross Harry's mind, but now that Voldemort brought it on... Could it really be Snape's doing? Was it the answer he was looking for? Severus Snape – a Death Eater with a motive, skills and time to act...

"You think he wants me dead, which I find most confusing," the Dark Lord whispered. "Snape killed Albus Dumbledore for me, Potter. He is my most valuable servant."

"Yeah, and I am your worst enemy. Look, I always suspect Snape. It's a bad habit of mine," Harry said evasively. "He, nevertheless, stopped working for the Order a year ago and I am sure he is not in touch with any of the members. I cannot think of a way he would figure it out," he continued, trying hard not to think of Dumbledore's portrait.

"You're avoiding my question, Potter."

"So what if I am," Harry said firmly.

"How curious – don't you hate him?"

"I hate your murderous tendencies much more."

"But if he's my enemy..."

"Then what? What would you do? Move him to the top ten of your 'To Kill' list? I wonder, before or after certain Harry Potter?"

The ugly, whistling noise of the Sneakoscope came out of Voldemort's robes again. The wizard slowly pulled it out and placed it on the table before taking a seat next to Harry, seemingly lost in thought.

"Very well … what would you do, Harry?" he asked, his red eyes boring into Harry's. "I am really curious to know what you think."

"I would find the truth, no matter what," Harry said without hesitation. "And I have every intention to do so!"

Voldemort gave it a slow nod of agreement, watching the Sneakoscope gradually fall silent again.

"You'll learn in time that it's not always that easy."

"Perhaps it's not. But it's always worth the effort," Harry said more calmly, remembering the food on the plate and finishing his toast.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked a moment later, noticing the obvious lack of Voldemort's interest in the deliciously smelling meal.

"No. Hunger was the second weakness I decided to conquer after my mortality," Voldemort replied in a bored tone, watching the ceiling, still bemused.

"I'm not sure I understand. You _do_ eat, right?"

Finally, Harry was scorched by that fiery glare again.

"Regularly," Voldemort replied scathingly.

Meaning once a month, Harry thought privately, but aloud he said.

"So, what's the big problem with my improvised Bolognese meat sauce?"

"Nothing except that middle word."

"You're a vegetarian?" Harry asked, confused.

"And so would be you, if you spent thirteen years eating rats, spiders and cockroaches, Potter."

"What?"

"I had to possess snakes during my exile in Albania. Have you ever wondered what they eat?"

"Crap," Harry muttered, helping himself to another toast and eating it slowly. "Okay, I understand, but you could at least give it a try. It tastes much better than cockroaches, I swear."

When Voldemort did not respond, Harry moved his chair closer to him.

"I thought you wanted to regain your strength. Don't you think that a food might actually help you with that?"

Voldemort gave it a thought. Then, cautiously, he moved the plate closer and sprinkled one of the toasts with some Parmesan cheese that Harry served along in a small porcelain bowl.

Carefully, as if afraid it might bite him back in return, he gnawed at the crispy corner, flashing his pointy white teeth at Harry. Then he chewed on it dutifully and finally swallowed, his expression unreadable throughout the whole ordeal.

"So? How was it? Did you like it?" Harry asked tensely as he watched him place the toast back on the plate.

"I'd call it ... highly addictive," Voldemort commented after wiping his mouth into a napkin. "Like everything about you."

"Hah! You say that and you haven't even tried vanilla ice cream with a hot chocolate sauce on top!" Harry laughed. "Anyway, no need to hold back. You can have it all, if you want. I'm already full."

"Will you also grant me free access to another of my recent addictions?"

"What do you mean by that?"

Voldemort snorted, rapping his fingernails against the desk.

"Sex, Potter. What else?"

Harry felt a grin spread on his face. The long-awaited moment of recompense had finally come. Oh, how he was looking forward to do this...

He stretched his back lazily before leaning to whisper in Voldemort's ear seductively.

"I'm off to bed. Good night, Tom."

And with the smile still playing on his lips, Harry stalked off to his bedroom, leaving the upset Dark Lord to deal with his problem alone.


	19. Checkmate

xxxxx

Harry lay flat on his back with his hands folded under his head, gazing at the tiny cracks in a plaster above him. His old bedroom was softly illuminated by a faint, orange light that was filtering through the curtains from the street lamp outside the window. It was long past midnight and he had yet to change into his nightclothes and get some sleep.

Tired as he was, he could not stop thinking of Ron, Hermione and the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix. He could only hope his friends were wise enough to stay safe, regardless of their loss. Harry's throat clenched when he recalled Bill's handsome (but scarred) face. He imagined Mrs. and Mr. Weasley crying for their beloved son, Fred and George's sombre faces, Charlie rushing back from Romania to mourn with his family and Percy, perhaps even changing his mind when confronted with the evidence. And then he saw Fleur, pregnant and desolate, kneeling at the grave of her husband, whispering his name in vain, and his heart sank even further. He wanted to be there; he wanted to console them at least since there was nothing else he could do...

A new wave of burning anger rushed through him.

How could Snape possibly do something like that? He was a sour, vicious man, true, but how could he turn into the very person he wanted to destroy? Had his desire to revenge on Lord Voldemort taken a final toll on that little piece of heart he's got left?

Harry grumpily sat up on the bed.

Why was it always Voldemort, who stood behind everything bad that was happening around him? Directly or indirectly, the Dark Lord had this influence on people, this ability to bring out the worst of them. Harry wondered, whether it would make him feel any better, if he took his old school trunk that lay by his feet, went downstairs and whacked the wizard over his head with it. Perhaps it would, until he realized that such an action would make him just as susceptible to that malevolent influence as everyone else.

Distraught, he got up, wrapped a warm blanket around his shoulders and approached the window, where a sudden movement of the outside branches drew his attention. The first raindrops splattered soundly against the soiled glass.

"What am I still doing here?" Harry muttered to himself, shaking his head as he looked down at the empty street.

"... I should have been gone for hours and yet – and yet..."

Harry pressed his forehead against the glass, cooling it a bit.

Privet Drive looked exactly as a respectable street should look like in the wee hours of Monday morning. All the windows were dark. There was not a living creature in sight, except of-

Harry quickly cleaned his glasses into the grey shirt he wore (he also found it in the old wardrobe) and put them back on.

There was actually something down there, hiding in a shadow of a parked van. It looked like a dog from afar, but Harry could not tell it for sure.

He remembered Sirius right then, hiding crouched in the shadows of Magnolia Crescent, watching over his safety, and suddenly felt keen desire to have him here. He needed someone around, someone understanding like Sirius was. After spending years and years in prison, his godfather would have been able to see the light even in the darkest corners of Harry's mind and soul. But his godfather was gone, he went to the place where he could not follow, and this dog - or whatever it was - had disappeared into the night as well.

Harry pressed his nose closer against the cool glass, but he could hardly see a thing over a sudden downpour outside.

He wished the funny prickling along his spine would cease already. The biggest threat of his existence was relatively tame now – or as tame as a snake could possibly be. On the other hand, it would not hurt him much if he went outside and checked the surroundings, just in case.

Harry turned away from the window, taking no more than two blind steps into the darkness of the room, when an almighty crash accompanied with something heavy and wet landing on his back sent him flying towards the opposite wall.

Harry yelped as the forceful impact knocked the breath out of him.

Fortunately, his well-trained instincts sprang into action right away and he crawled away from beneath the growling weight that tore at the blanket covering his shoulders. A nasty smell of dirty, dank fur filled Harry's nose, almost making him retch. There was no mistaking now: fear lapped at him as he glanced back – how could he possibly miss the fact that tonight was a full moon? Confirming his worst suspicion, the razor sharp claws cut after him, missing him by inches, and the slobbery muzzle snapped after him emptily.

A rabid, fully transformed werewolf was here, in his Muggle bedroom, trying to succeed where Voldemort failed so many times. Knowing that his future existence fully depended on retrieving his wand in time, Harry clambered hastily in a direction of the bedside table. With adrenaline pounding in his veins, he made it to his bed in a record time and his hands attacked the table blindly – knocking the wand off its surface by mistake.

Harry cried out for the first time, fear enveloping him, crawling under his skin and choking him. He turned back just in time to fight off another attack by kicking the snarling monster into its chest and snout. The creature's long, steel-like talons tore at his jeans: the moment they would break his skin was seconds away.

"Homorfio!"

Harry had never considered Voldemort's voice to be lovely or beautiful. Right now, however, he could not imagine anything more perfect. The word set the room ablaze with light, making the beast howl in agony. The werewolf was caught in a ball of light, twisting and turning as if trying to shake it off. Tufts of fur were falling everywhere and the wolf's limbs prolonged, regaining human appearance. Harry only saw that much and then he had to cover his eyes, since the blaze became unbearable.

"Potter!"

That voice calling out his name made him overcome his discomfort and look out again. The monster, now in a human form, was far from being sane or helpless. It leaped after Harry once more, clearly attracted by a human scent, but this time Harry was ready. He evaded the attack, whirled around, grabbed the man's long black hair and drove his head straight against the nearest wall. There was a scream of pain and an awful crack that could either be the thick skull or the poor plywood separating Harry and Dudley's bedrooms. Seeing the pit in the wall, Harry suspected the other and slammed the werewolf's head against it two more times before he finally felt him go limp in his grasp.

"Fenrir," Harry spat out and stumbled backwards while watching the creature sink to the floor. Only now he realized that he was shaking all over.

"How … how in Merlin's name did he find me?"

He turned to Voldemort expectantly, but in that very moment a stream of virulent green light illuminated the small bedroom they were in. At first he thought it was Voldemort's doing, but then, as he instinctively crouched in a gap between the bed and the wall, he saw a masked person fly by the broken window.

As the darkness prevailed again, Harry peered over the mattress to the place where he last saw the Dark Lord. He was gone.

"Tom?"

Harry's throat constricted with fear.

"Voldemort! Damn it, answer me!"

Panicking, Harry instinctively began groping the floor.

"Where in hell is that stupid wand?! Damn – it! Lumos!"

The tip of his wand that rolled to the far corner under his bed had ignited and Harry snatched it and leaped to his feet, looking around wildly. Another green flash missed him closely, but something darker than shadows moved to stand beside him and the next second Harry saw a flash of light leave the Elder Wand. The attacker lost control over his broomstick instantly and crashed inside Harry's bedroom, rolling over on the floor before becoming still by their feet.

"They're gathering outside," Voldemort said stiffly, breaking the sudden silence.

Perplexed, Harry looked at him and met the Dark Lord's fiery, agitated gaze.

"Could you explain to me what's going on here?" he snapped and marched over to the unconscious man on the floor. He turned him to his back.

"Who's this guy?"

He gasped when he saw the Death Eater's mask.

"Greyback. Dolohov. And the others," Voldemort answered simply.

Harry forgot how perfect Voldemort's eyesight was in the dark. He did not have to come over and check. He saw everything.

"But … if they're the Death Eaters, why don't you tell them to stop?" Harry said, confused.

"Ah, you're still so naïve, Potter. Your age excuses you, though."

Another flash of a green light emphasized the crushing weight of Voldemort's words.

"You mean," Harry said, slowly getting up, "they know you're in here? And still..."

Harry did not believe it – but there was no time for further questioning. Another curse coming from outside set the furniture on fire. The room was instantly filled with heavy, black smoke.

"Let's Apparate, then!" Harry coughed the words out, covering his mouth.

"It's too late for that. I've sensed they raised the wards already."

New flashes of light broke through the outer wall and there was a sound of an explosion coming from downstairs. To Harry's surprise, Voldemort still stared ahead and did not move.

"Come on, Tom! We need to get out! Let's split!" Harry yelled, trying to make the Dark Lord more focused on the crisis they were facing.

"Yes," Voldemort finally said and approached him, which was not exactly how Harry imagined the splitting part.

"Take the broom, Potter," he said, summoning it from the corner. "I've been told you're a decent flier. Get past the wards and Apparate. You're on your own now."

The rumbling sound of footsteps pounding up the staircase erased Harry's remaining objections. He glanced through the black smoke at the dark clouds outside rimmed silver by the moon climbing up the sky. Flying out like that hardly sounded like a plan but what choice did he have?

"And what about you?" Harry asked without thinking.

"Don't tell me that you're worried about me, Harry."

"No … no. Of course not. I was being … silly."

Harry mounted the broom and nodded jerkily.

"All right, I'm ready," he said.

"See you later, Potter. If you're lucky again."

Voldemort's cold fingers dug into Harry's forearm and their eyes met. The moment was gone fast and so was Harry, accelerating to the skies, leaving the befuddled attackers swarming around the house. Harry felt the wet, cool wind in his hair and slid his palms over the broomstick to steady himself. He was relieved when he instantly recognized the shape of a Nimbus Two Thousand. It was an old broom by most standards, yet Harry felt at home riding it. He even afforded himself a quick glance backwards and saw Voldemort blast off the rooftop and escape through there. Harry imagined Uncle Vernon's head exploding in the same manner after seeing the damage...

A venomous green flash whistling close above his wet hair instantly brought him back to reality.

Alarmed, Harry looked ahead and with a yelp he dived for the ground. The sky rippled with black coats and Harry, inadvertently, got too close to them.

Speeding away and dodging the curses, Harry's brain was on fire.

It was really the Death Eaters; he was a logical target, but why would they attack Lord Voldemort? Rebelling or not, they were supposed to be terrified of him – and for a good reason!

Unfortunately, Harry soon had more urgent problems to solve than the odd behaviour of Voldemort's servants. They were closing on him no matter what he did: he managed to escape one group of chasers, but there was already another one gaining on him from the other side.

Mindlessly, Harry had cast a few Stunning Spells over his shoulder, while weaving his way in a rocket speed among the sleeping houses. One mistake and the grey cement on the nearest dwelling would be adorned with his vivid blood-paint.

Still, his strategy was paying out since the number of the chasers soon dropped to four resilient ones. Sadly, what they lacked in number, they recompensed with tenacity.

Twice now Harry missed the death with nothing but sheer luck. He was running out of options: he needed to get rid of them and the only thing he could do was to use his perfect knowledge of this neighborhood. He knew every niche, every turn and every corner of Privet Drive and adjacent streets.

Diving into the avenue that lined the gardens behind Magnolia Crescent, Harry decided it was time he found out just how good his memory was. Flying blindly, he tried to visualize the trees ahead and the distances between them. The overgrown branches slapped him in his face and scraped at his back painfully, but he did not mind it, even when he felt the affected areas burn badly.

And soon he could see that it was working: the Death Eaters slowed down dramatically one after another and Harry used that moment to quickly land on the nearest rooftop and hide between tall chimneys.

The four men on the brooms flew about his location for some time, searching for him, but soon they gave up and Harry watched them gain speed and return to Privet Drive.

Finally, Harry allowed himself to take a deep breath and rose back to his feet.

According to the sounds and lights, Voldemort was still fighting in the distance: he did not escape yet, nor did he convince his bootlickers of their tremendous error. It could only mean that Lord Voldemort, against all odds, was the Death Eaters' target as well.

Harry watched the battle with abated breath, still struggling with that incomprehensible concept.

It was all too confusing.

One thing, however, captured his attention.

It had passed his notice during the battle, but now, when he was merely an onlooker, he spotted a prominent anomaly of the Death Eaters' attack.

They were all perfectly synchronized, seemingly predicting Voldemort's moves, just like will-less pawns being pushed over the chessboard by some greater force. They suffered terrible losses, but Harry, inevitably, came to realization that Voldemort, though a seemingly unbeatable wizard, could not win this fight.

The realization sank into Harry's stomach like a stone.

_"Get past the wards and Apparate. You're on your own now."_

Voldemort's last words resonated in Harry's feverish brain over and over.

_"See you later, Potter."_

"I won't be seeing him again."

Harry bit into his lip so hard that he tasted blood on his tongue.

But he could not fly back.

There was nothing he could do.

He had thousands of valid reasons to stay exactly where he was.

He could not die now - not for this stupid reason. Not for Lord Voldemort. It would be completely senseless.

Unfortunately, he still needed to explain that standpoint to his arms and legs that were, in the meantime, mounting the broom again.

Perhaps, those were merely his side thoughts. The thing that was really on his mind when he saw the Death Eaters attempting to bring down the man they swore to obey till their last breath had nothing to do with himself. Voldemort ridiculed anything human – he despised humanity and he claimed to be far above it all. So, Harry would show him the true meaning of being human. He would plant a seed of doubts in the Dark Lord's callous, calculating mind. If there was one thing really worth risking his life for, it would be this one.

The chilly, wet air fizzled with magic as Harry raced to the centre of the battle. His heart hammered in his ears and his scar flared. He pressed his nose closer to the broomstick and gained more speed.

There was no turning back now.

He only had a moment of surprise on his side and one chance to use it.

The wand vibrated in his hand as he raised it.

And then he was there: he burst into the middle, taking down two Death Eaters who did not even register him. The curses flashed everywhere around him, but he still headed for Voldemort, passed him with a loud war-cry, and then brutally shouldered his way out on the other side of the Death Eaters' swirling circle, hoping that the man would follow him.

And he did.

Harry glanced back and saw him flying on a dark cloud after him, close enough to see his red eyes wide, dilated with surprise.

Then the pale hand that held the Elder Wand turned from behind to point at Harry.

"Hey!" Harry cried out, but the green curse was sent already, passing him safely.

At that point Harry looked ahead and screamed.

"NO!"

There was another horde of at least fifteen Death Eaters waiting for them, just in case Voldemort made it through the first squad.

Once again, Harry was enveloped by a turbulent, flashing cloud of Stunning Spells, Blasting Curses and terrible white masks. If he could afford to have any coherent thoughts, he would have probably contemplated how odd it was that the Death Eaters avoided Killing Curses now (not to kill each other too often?), but as it was, he did not really care that much since it would make no difference to him. If he was Stunned now, he would have fallen off the broom and died just a few seconds later.

He was ascending in a tight spiral now, searching for a way out of that mess, when suddenly a searing pain erupted in his right shoulder. He did not see the curse coming, but its impact was so violent that everything went momentarily black before his eyes. Someone's furious scream nearby brought him partially back to senses - still it was too late, the damage was done. Harry had already lost control over his broom completely and he was falling down in crazy circles that made his head spin wildly.

There was no time – he had to pull himself together or else...

Gritting his teeth, Harry leaned forward as far as he could and grasped the broomstick that was wobbling madly and slipping down to his ankles. He sat back on it again, clenched his legs firmly around it and guided it back up to the sky.

And in that moment he saw it happen: Voldemort killed one of the Death Eaters in a blast of green malevolence - Harry recognized the victim as his attacker - but two more wizards repaid him with the Stunning Spells that hit the Dark Lord straight in the chest before he could renew the Shield Charm. Impossibly, Voldemort willed himself to consciousness, repaying the wizards with the same curse.

Then two more Stunners came and ended his struggle.

Harry's heart nearly stopped when he saw the brilliant duellist topple over, the Elder Wand falling from his slacked hand and his body losing its momentum, turning fast towards the ground.

"No – NO!" Harry bellowed.

He was too far away. There was no way he could make it to him in time but he tried nevertheless. That horrible, choking feeling that exploded in his chest overpowered everything else. By the corner of his eye Harry saw a dark shadow pursue him, but he disregarded it: all his focus belonged to the Dark Lord, whose fall was gaining speed second by second.

Harry was certain he had never flown this fast before, not even on his Firebolt. He piloted the badly vibrating broomstick with all the force he could muster and silently counted the distance that separated him from the unconscious man.

Each meter felt like a mile, so it equalled a miracle when he finally got close enough to grab him and pull his indispensable weight on the jerky broomstick.

Only then Harry raised his eyes and with dawning terror he noticed how low they had gotten. He tried to raise the front end of his broom, but he achieved nothing aside the fact that the broomstick began to bend dangerously, almost breaking in halves. Harry's desperate effort had a minimal effect on changing the collision course. The broom was simply too heavy and too fast for such a low altitude. They were going to crash and Harry could do nothing to stop it. He could even see the place now – a nasty piece of concrete wall surrounding some private parcel.

Seeing the inevitable outcome, Harry made a quick decision. There was one last thing worth trying: he took the Dark Lord's bony wrist into his hand, clutched it hard, then closed his eyes and let go of everything but that wrist and his wand – and twisted in the midair.

Blackness engulfed him, squeezed him and stretched him only to spit him out – and then he crashed hard.

Water was everywhere, it filled Harry's eyes, in his nose, ears and even his mouth. He took a few involuntary gulps of that muddy liquid before he managed to scramble to his knees and raise his head above the surface. The fresh night air tasted bitterly-sweet and he relished in it while listening to his own panting.

Then, when the quiet fell back on the dark landscape, disturbed only by a muted frog's croaking, Harry slowly hoisted himself up and adjusted the glasses that miraculously stayed on his nose. The back of his right shoulder was on fire; it felt as if there was a knife stuck in that wound and he could not pull it out. But he would have to bear with it; sadly, Hermione was not here to heal him.

He lit his wand and took a better look at the messy landing spot. The swamp spread in every direction, only in a far distance he could pick out hazy outlines of a dwelling.

With no enemies in sight, Harry started searching for his companion.

"Tom?"

He turned around and took a squelching step aside.

There was just tall, sharp grass and low bushes everywhere he looked. The disquieting silence slowly began to play on his nerves.

Harry knew that he had held Voldemort tight during the Apparation, so the wizard had to be somewhere here.

Without further hesitation, Harry squeezed his way through the closest offending growth and waded into another shallow pond where he finally spotted the Dark Lord lying in a pool of mud, face down, unmoving.

Harry rushed over to him and pulled him out, turning him on his back.

"Wake up … come on, wake up," he whispered urgently. "What's the spell … huh ... Rennevarte!"

Voldemort came round slowly. At first, his snake-like nostrils quivered slightly and then his chest shuddered a bit in an attempt to remove the offending liquid from his airways.

The coughing attack that followed gradually evolved into an uncontrollable convulsion fit. Harry cradled the Dark Lord's gaunt form all the time through it, holding him close for long minutes until he eventually quietened down.

Only then Voldemort looked up, meeting Harry's intent gaze.

The moment, seemingly suspended in time, was cut off with realization flickering in those wide red eyes. The Dark Lord turned his head a little, glancing down at his empty hands.

And then he screamed, his body convulsing wildly again.

He pushed Harry back bluntly and started groping and raking the muddy grass with frantic fervour. He stumbled around and fell repeatedly only to continue in his effort with even greater resolve.

Harry knew he would have to stop him eventually; he only did not know how to do it without making things even worse.

"It's not here," he finally spoke to him, keeping his voice soft and low.

Voldemort's expression, when he looked at him, was the one that belonged to a wild animal caught in the headlights of a speeding truck. Only now he seemed to fully realize that Harry was here and his eyes automatically sought out the wand in his hand.

And he leaped.

Instinctively, Harry raised his wand and cried out.

"Prestego!"

Voldemort's body was promptly warded off by an invisible shield, but he struggled to get up and break through it again.

"Stop it!" Harry cried out. "Stop it or I'll have to curse you!"

The words eventually seeped through the man's ravings to his rational core. He halted his actions and remained standing knee-deep in that mud, breathing hard. His whole body was shaking so violently that he had problems standing upright.

"So, here it comes, doesn't it?" he said then, his voice dry, rustling like falling leaves. "What are you waiting for, Potter? For my acknowledging your triumph?"

The words came as a surprise, even though Harry did not expect anything remotely rational from him at this point.

"You really think that I would- Hell, if I wanted you dead, Riddle, I could just sit back and watch it happen some ten minutes ago," Harry said incredulously.

Voldemort's face remained empty and unreadable as if all life was drained out of him.

With a wave of the wand, Harry removed the barrier between them and approached him.

"Look, I'm sorry that you lost your wand," he said.

The Dark Lord gave out an ironic laugh.

"Don't make me believe that. And even if it was true, Potter, what does it matter? It's over. I am nothing. Lord Voldemort does not exist without his wand. It's over," he repeated in a deadened voice.

Since Harry had a very personal experience with losing his most precious possession, he knew precisely how Voldemort felt. It was like falling into a black hole with no light at the end of the tunnel. It took him many long weeks until he learned how to partly cope with it.

Voldemort, apparently, was beyond any coping.

The question was, what to do now?

Acting on a sudden impulse, Harry reached out, took the Dark Lord's dreadfully cold hand, opened it up and before the man could jerk away, he placed his wand into the frail, bony palm.

"I hope it's better now," he said quietly then.

He needed Voldemort sane and focused as much as possible. Besides, the Dark Lord would still have his wand were he not distracted by his fall, Harry realized and his stomach jolted nervously at that thought.

The shining tip of his wand went dark in Voldemort's hand, but Harry could still see his face as the full moon chose that moment to appear among clouds and illuminate the place.

His shock was immeasurable. He froze between breaths, gazing at the object in his hand as if he was just given the Holy Grail. Then, with a great effort, he backed away from Harry, perhaps to secure his new ownership in case the young man changed his mind. When he deemed to be in a safe distance, he dared to look at the wand again. His other hand shot up to cover his mouth and Harry heard him take a shaky breath. Then, exhaustion won the better of him: Voldemort's knees gave out and his long spine hunched while he was gasping and choking on the feelings that stemmed from the depths of his maimed soul. Harry could not tell if he was crying or laughing – it could be neither or both. Still, when he stood there, watching him rejoice his unprecedented survival, he wished he could leave him alone. Harry realized he never meant to intrude Voldemort's privacy that much. He was the offender here. This would have never happened if they stayed enemies.

 _But_ , if they stayed enemies, Harry would never know, how he could possibly feel about him...

A few minutes later, the Dark Lord recuperated enough to get up again. He swept off the most offending dirt from his robes and tried to recollect his dignity.

"You will not talk about this," he said then, stating a fact rather than placing a request.

Harry nodded. That was one of the few things he had no problem with.

"I suppose you want to know why I did it, don't you?" he asked quietly.

The soft wrinkle between the Dark Lord's hairless brows smoothed out and Harry felt a ridiculous urge to kiss it.

"Not really," the man replied after a short pause. "Your deeds speak for themselves."

"And what do they tell you?"

"They tell me that the Order of the Phoenix just lost their leader."

"Well," Harry said bemusedly. "The same goes for the Death Eaters after tonight, right?"

"The Death Eaters were Imperiused, boy. You are not."

Harry's spine stiffened. Voldemort just confirmed the building suspicion he had ever since he watched that outrageous battle.

"So you've noticed it too… What am I saying - of course you have. Anyway, I don't need to be Imperiused to make a right decision."

Cautiously, Voldemort approached him a little.

"Meaning?"

Harry sighed, rubbing his sore shoulder.

"Did I earn the right to speak openly? Will I get honest answers?"

The intense red eyes considered Harry momentarily and then Voldemort gave him a brief nod.

"Okay. Since you're the only one who can possibly answer my questions, I'm asking you … who did this? Who's controlling your Death Eaters? Who's sending them after us? Is it the same person who killed Bill Weasley? I want to hear about _your suspicion_."

"I don't have a name for you," Voldemort said after a moment. "I can offer a theory, perhaps. However, before I do that, I have an important question myself. Where are we, Potter? This place, in my opinion, doesn't seem safe."

"You're right," Harry admitted grudgingly, pointing in a direction of a distant dwelling. "My friends used to live over there. The truth is, if the Death Eaters could find us at Privet Drive, it's only a question of time before they come here."

"We shall be going then," Voldemort said, trying to make himself more presentable by removing another piece of offending grass from his wet, matted robes. Briefly, Harry wondered why he did not use his magic to dry them and clean them, knowing how much he suffered from cold. The only explanation was that he was too exhausted for that...

"Think of some suitable place," the Dark Lord ordered Harry suddenly, breaking into his thoughts and taking a hold of his elbow.

Harry hissed as the movement went straight into his injured shoulder.

"Don't you have a safe hideout yourself?" he asked, irritated.

"Think of a place I know nothing about, Potter," Voldemort raised his voice until it was razor sharp and his eyes kept boring holes into Harry's head.

"Look, I don't know where to go – I seriously don't know!"

"It can be the first place that crosses your mind which is not connected to the Wizarding world in any way."

Harry's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Why? What exactly is this about?"

"Just do it, boy," Voldemort hissed.

"Fine!" Harry snapped, rolling his eyes. "Fine. Give me the wand and I'll Apparate us somewhere … anywhere."

"No! You think of the place and I will Apparate us," the Dark Lord said in a commanding tone.

"And how can you...?"

"I have my ways."

"Oh, I bet you have," Harry said indignantly, but nodded nonetheless. "I would only appreciate if you didn't splinch my a-"

Before Harry could finish his rather rude comment, the world flipped around him only to stabilize again and show him a dark, wide street adorned with red tail lights of departing cars.

Harry blinked idly, unprepared for that sudden change of environment accompanied with distinct nausea caused by Apparation.

A loud honking noise woke him up from his daze.

"Get off the road, you ruddy wankers!" a driver of a passing car shouted at them angrily before he stepped on the gas and sped up towards the shining city that spread ahead.

A black sleeve swirled in front of Harry's eyes as Voldemort aimed his wand.

"Wait!" he screamed, catching the bony arm. "It's not worth it, Tom! Do you want them to find out where we are?"

Voldemort's upper lip curled with distaste, but, to Harry's great relief, he lowered his hand again.

If only he weren't such a poser, Harry thought privately, shaking his head. It did not matter that he was too tired to tidy himself up: he was still ready to waste his energy on punishing Muggles.

As if hearing his thoughts, Voldemort turned his head to Harry and raised an eyebrow.

"Am I allowed to ask why did you choose this place?" he asked with genuine interest.

Harry did not answer right away; he looked back over his shoulder at the quickly approaching vehicles, snatched Voldemort's hand and dragged him speedily towards the safety of the crash barrier.

Once there, he sighed deeply. Now he could pay attention to the Dark Lord's curiosity. The truth was that this industrial suburb of London was not an inviting district by any measure. Huge, reinforced, concrete buildings towering on the sides of tangled roads, some of them dark and empty, the others rumbling with the sounds of the night shift - all of that was hardly a place worth remembering. Even the surrounding air carried a nasty scent of fumes and gasoline, leaving a sour aftertaste on the tongue.

"This highway...," Harry finally said after he tore his eyes off the nearest construction and pointed at the asphalt they were standing at, "Uncle Vernon drove me here to King's Cross at the start of my first school year at Hogwarts. I was so excited about it that I learned the whole route by heart and counted each curve and crossing that drew me nearer to … freedom."

Voldemort nodded slowly in a moment of shared understanding.

"And that's all. Now ... let's go," Harry said, gesturing towards the city. "I'm sure there's a motel somewhere near."

Harry stuffed his hand in a back pocket of his jeans and pulled out the remaining banknotes.

"I'm only worried that we don't have enough money left."

In response to that, Voldemort snorted and muttered something under his breath.

"What did you say?" Harry asked, sensing an insult in the air.

"I said I can't believe you need money to deal with Muggles, Potter."

"Look, I'm not going to use the Imperius Curse on them just because I need a shelter for tonight!"

"No, you're not going to use it. You, as I am informed, currently don't have a wand at all."

"HEY!"

"Ah, Harry," Voldemort sighed and rolled his red eyes. "What am I going to do with you?"

"What about making a compromise?"

The Dark Lord gave it a thought, scratching his chin. Then he raised the wand and pointed it at the banknotes in Harry's hand. They started multiplying fast and within a second they overflew from Harry's closed fist and started falling to the ground.

"What-? Stop it! What are you doing?"

"A compromise," Voldemort said shortly.

"But … this is a fraud!"

"I assure you, Potter, that no Muggle could possibly tell the difference between the copies and the originals."

"It's _still_ a fraud!" Harry said indignantly.

Voldemort's thin mouth curled into a little smile.

"Sue me."

"I'd rather suck you!"

Harry instantly knew that his impulsive mouth outran his thinking. Voldemort's astounded face only confirmed it.

"But not tonight," he hurled out fast, blushing like a boiling lobster. "Tonight I am only interested in a hot shower, a warm bed and your answers to my goddamn questions!"

They walked in quiet for a while, the sounds of their footstep repeatedly drowned out by passing cars. Harry felt himself shrinking with every step he took, because he could physically feel Voldemort's intent stare in his back.

"You're injured," the Dark Lord noted all of a sudden.

"It's nothing!" Harry snapped, still refusing to look at him.

"It was a Blasting Curse."

"I know."

"Do you want me to-?"

"Come on," Harry stopped and finally turned to him. "You're not going to heal me, are you?"

"There's very little things I would not do any more."

There was such a huge amount of sincerity in his voice that Harry momentarily did not know how to respond.

"Tell me your theory," he suggested a moment later, when they resumed their pace.

"Do you suspect someone? Someone powerful enough...," Harry paused, trying not to envisage Snape too much, "...to control so many skilled wizards?"

"I trained all my Death Eaters in person against the Imperius Curse, Harry," the Dark Lord said after a short pause. "I showed them how to resist it, because I knew how dangerous it could turn out to be, if they remained susceptible to such an influence."

Harry nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"It should be nearly impossible now, if one of them was affected, to spread this curse further. The person who is behind this is either an exceptional magician, or he/she had to place the Imperius Curse on my Death Eaters one after another. I find both options quite infeasible."

"But it _was_ done. Someone did it," Harry whispered.

"Yes," Voldemort hissed. "Someone did it."

Harry rubbed his shoulder again.

"So, who could have done it – theoretically?"

"I could have done it!" Voldemort snapped, his red eyes flashing in the dark.

" _What?_ Why the hell would you-?" Harry gasped, incredulous.

" _In theory_ , Potter!" the Dark Lord stopped him, irate. "I am only telling you how highly advanced wizard you need to be to perform such a task!"

"Oh."

"Yes. _Oh_."

"Well, that kind of limits the candidates … to zero."

"I thought that much is apparent."

"And what if … well, what if they were more than one? I mean-"

"You mean what if the rebellious squad decided to put the rest under their control?" Voldemort said sharply.

"Yeah, something like that."

"You think fast, boy," the Dark Lord admitted more calmly. "I was thinking the same in the beginning, but the longer I consider it, the more inconsistencies I find."

"Such as?"

"When the Death Eaters attacked me, they attacked me as one man. They must have been guided by a single mind. You could never achieve such a unity when it comes to several casters of the Imperius Curse."

"So … we are back to stage one?" Harry said, frustrated.

"I don't think so," Voldemort said, taking a glance at a flashing neon sign offering a cheap accommodation that appeared behind the curve. "There's a couple of things I know for certain. The way the Death Eaters' attack was performed told me quite a lot. The person who's behind this knows my fighting style, my strategies and also my secret escape routes. I believe we can safely rule out the Order of the Phoenix now."

Harry's knees buckled with relief.

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear it."

"Well, I am far from being happy about it, boy. It means that I have a despicable traitor among my ranks. Someone, who's been plotting this against me for a long time. Clearly, only a perfectly conducted plan could compensate the lack of sheer magical force necessary for such a task."

Greasy black hair and a hooked nose appeared before Harry's eyes before he could stop it.

"I know you still suspect Severus, Potter," Voldemort said dismissively, "but he's one of the few I trust fully. Besides, even if you were right - and you're not - Snape's not the type to lead an open conflict."

"I did not see anyone out in the open, aside a bunch of Imperiused Death Eaters," Harry muttered under his breath, torn between the urge to protect Snape and revenge on him. "Although... Maybe I did see someone after all. Someone who can fly too," he added solemnly, as they stopped at the motel's entrance.

"What?" Voldemort returned sharply.

"Without a broom, I mean. Unfortunately, I cannot tell for sure. I was too busy trying to catch you."

There was an odd expression on the Dark Lord's face that Harry did not like very much.

"What? Did I say something or-?"

"No, it's nothing."

"All right," Harry said, breaking the sudden tension. "Are we going inside?"

"You still have mud in your hair," Voldemort said and reached out, pulling a twig out of Harry's black tangles.

"Um ... this is not a five star hotel," Harry shrugged, but his stomach secretly made a happy somersault in his abdomen, spilling pleasant warmth through his chilled body.

Trying not to show it, Harry hurriedly turned away, opened the door and walked inside a dark grey, narrow reception. There was a balding, middle-aged man snoozing in his chair behind the desk. Aside an old TV playing in the background, the room was quiet.

Harry combed his wet hair back, smoothed out his torn shirt and stepped forward.

"Err … good evening," he said politely, waiting for the man to wake up from his slumber.

The addressed one raised his head fast, speaking automatically.

"Evening, mister. How can I-"

And then he paused, taking in Harry's beaten visage.

"Good gracious, do you want me to call the police?" he gasped, reaching out for the phone already.

"No, no! Everything's fine," Harry said quickly. "We just need a room for tonight, if it is possible."

When the man kept staring at him in silence, Harry added sheepishly.

"I fell in a river. Slipped down, you know … bad luck. That happens."

The receptionist, still taken aback, leaned sideways to look at Voldemort who remained standing in Harry's shadow.

"And the mister over there fell in the river too?" he asked suspiciously.

"Coincidentally, of course," Harry nodded fast.

The man moved back in his chair and slowly crossed his arms over his chest. He seemed fully awake now.

"You _do_ know, sir, that the nearest river is fifteen miles away, right?"

Harry, naturally, had no idea. Lying just was not his field of expertise.

"Look," he said impatiently at last. "Can we get that room or not?"

The receptionist seemed to be thinking about it for a moment. Then, coming to a decision, he returned to his professional approach.

"Only a double room is available at the moment, sir."

Harry instantly felt heat creep up into his face.

"Anything's fine," he said under his breath.

"All right. It will be fifty pounds, please. And I would like to ask you for your ID, sir."

Harry put the money on the counter and leaned forward a bit, speaking in a lower voice.

"Would it be a big problem if I did not have my ID with me?"

"Oh - let me guess. You've lost it during your _swimming session_ , right, sir?" the receptionist said bitingly, drumming his fingers against the desk.

It was the moment when Harry felt a cold hand push him gently out of the way.

"Wait, Tom," Harry hissed under his breath, but Voldemort was already looming over the poor man, who screamed in horror and backed away wildly at the sight of the Dark Lord's face.

Surprisingly, Voldemort kept his cool. His hand slid down from Harry's healthy shoulder and seized some paper with an advertisement that lay on the counter, handing it to the suddenly mute receptionist, whose face quickly blanked out.

A moment later the man reached out slowly, took the paper from the Dark Lord and started reading it.

"Yes, yes," he muttered then. "I see now. This is perfectly all right, Mr. Wright. Here are your keys. Have a good night."

"Mr. Wright?" Harry asked quietly, when they entered the elevator and the cabin began ascending to the third floor.

"A common Muggle name," Voldemort said offhandedly, meeting Harry's eyes. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, of course not," Harry said quickly, shuffling his feet.

"I was just surprised, that's all," he added a moment later and followed Voldemort out of the elevator and down the line of repetitive black doors.

"That I did not kill him?"

"Well … yeah."

"Secrecy, Potter," Voldemort said dryly. "You were right when you warned me earlier. I've been off the habit lately."

The keys rattled in the lock and the ordinary chipboard door opened with a faint creak.

And Harry stepped inside, holding his breath.

The first impression was … that the cupboard under the stairs was still smaller than this. The bed that filled most of the space could hardly be called a double, but it looked comfortable enough and Harry instantly wished he could hop on it.

Fortunately, he stopped himself in time and started to undo his ruined, wet clothes.

Voldemort, meanwhile, scrutinized the small room briefly and then, without saying anything, he took all three towels that lay on top of the covers and disappeared into the adjacent bathroom.

Harry's got no energy left to protest.

He shed the shirt from his shoulders and carefully pulled down the old light-blue T-shirt he wore, wincing as it slid over his wound. Then he came closer to the mirror-wall that gave the room an optical illusion of a larger space and turned sideways to inspect it. The injury was deep, but Harry could see that the bone was not broken and that the bleeding stopped already.

Harry's favourite jeans were in shreds too. Still, he had no real reason to complain: he was lucky it was just his clothes and not his skin. He removed them as well and sat on a small stool, waiting.

It was about fifteen minutes later when the Dark Lord finally emerged from the bathroom, looking rather unsettled. At first, Harry thought it was because the water was cold, but that could not be – Voldemort's body was steaming.

Almost against his will, Harry's eyes followed the little droplets running down that flat, snow white chest towards the towel wrapped around his skinny waist.

For a moment, Harry wished he could be one of them.

"They call this a bathroom," Voldemort seethed, unaware of Harry's fixed gaze, "but there is no bath inside!"

"That's because Muggles prefer a shower," Harry answered automatically and got up when he felt the red eyes turn to him.

"I don't … really care about what Muggles prefer or not," Voldemort responded distractedly, forgetting all his ire when presented with the sight of Harry's nearly bare body.

Harry, avoiding his gaze, passed him quickly.

"Wait."

The long-fingered hand touched Harry's arm and for the first time ever, it was actually warmer than Harry's skin.

Harry tensed and looked back at him slowly.

Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry's wounded back and made a slow circular movement with it. That would be all right for the most part; Harry could deal with that unpleasant, stinging sensation of the healing process, if the other spidery hand did not sneak around his chest to rub his nipple innocuously.

That pushed Harry a way much closer to his breaking point.

"That's better," the older wizard said then, watching the curve of Harry's arse appreciatively.

Then, as if nothing happened, he took a swift step back.

"You should be all right by the morning," he said matter-of-factly, handing Harry a towel he did not use.

Glancing back into the mirror, Harry could see that the torn flesh closed up, although the upper layer of his skin was still missing.

"Tha-"

"No - don't say it," Voldemort retorted as if Harry was about to utter some vulgarism.

Surprise dissipated from Harry's face as fast as it appeared. Now he remembered how badly Voldemort handled gratitude coming from his (ex)enemies.

The Dark Lord owed him quite a few thanks himself, but he was still far from being able to properly acknowledge it. Understandably, he could not have Harry thanking him for anything right now.

Harry, however, decided to deal with this already. Many things could stay detached and impersonal. Even sex, for all he cared.

But not their relationship. Not anymore.

He reached out and cupped that pale, well defined chin in his cool hand.

"Thank you, Tom," he said softly, kissing him on his thin lips before closing the bathroom door behind himself with a quiet click.


	20. Failure in success

xxxxx

Harry spent a good half an hour in the shower, scrubbing away the thick crust of dirt that was gradually forming on him ever since he and Voldemort had crashed together into that muddy pool near the Burrow. When he was finally feeling like a human again (and not like a creepy little swamp monster), he turned off the water and stepped out of the steamy stall, towelling his thick jet-black hair close to dryness. Finally, he put on his glasses and looked at himself in the foggy mirror.

Against all expectations, he still looked the same as he did a few days ago – or a month ago, for that matter (except for a brief period of time in between when he was wearing Lord Voldemort's face).

Somehow, he expected to see some difference. He was, after all, no longer the same Boy-Who-Lived that he used to be. His life has always been a crazy roller-coaster ride with its marvellous peaks and dreadful abysses coming fast on him, but lately he felt as if he became stuck upside down somewhere in the middle, hanging by a thread. It made him wonder whether he should simply let go or try to climb back up for another ride (with Lord Voldemort by his side).

Harry suppressed a shiver of delight and chased away those thoughts because a) they were too disturbing and b) he was becoming overly fond of them, which was making them even more disturbing. Instead, he washed his dirty clothes thoroughly, spread them around the small bathroom to let them dry properly and returned to the sink, washing his mouth. Finally, he raised his head again and combed his wild hair back with his fingers.

His green eyes were as bright as ever and his scar was striking red, as if inflamed. Hesitantly, he touched it, tracing its famous shape.

"You should go back to him," Harry breathed against the glass. "Only then I would know for sure that what I am doing - what I am feeling - is based on my emotions and not yours."

The reflection stared back at him, eagerly anticipating a reply.

"Now, this is ridiculous," Harry rolled his eyes and stepped back. "Soon I'll start talking to myself in the third person like he does."

Harry wrapped the wet towel around his waist, took an encouraging breath, opened the bathroom door - and came to an instant halt, peering blindly into the darkness. Disoriented, he started groping the wall for the switch, but Voldemort's cool, dry voice interrupted him.

"Leave it," he said. "And come here."

Harry hesitated only for a moment before he clumsily weaved his way through the dark room towards the shadowy figure by the window.

"What is it?" he asked, screwing up his eyes to help them accommodate to the lack of illumination.

Voldemort did not reply right away; he was either contemplating an answer or simply thinking of something else. It was a quirk of his that he tended to do every now and then. So, Harry took his time to observe the Dark Lord thoroughly. He could already see that Voldemort was once again dressed in his usual black robes. Clean and dry, the dark fabric was wrapped loosely around his slender shoulders and fastened together at the level of his waist.

The man was definitely attractive – in his own way. And Harry was noticing it more and more still. The mere sight of him was making his mouth go dry and his throat constrict.

"I was merely wondering, if there is anything you want in return for your favour, boy," the dark wizard finally spoke up, before turning to Harry and giving him a long, assessing gaze. His haunting eyes glowed like a pair of living rubies: it was so intense that Harry felt as if he was undergoing an X-ray scan.

"You've been a great help tonight," he added, making Harry feel rather self-conscious.

"What? … Oh, yeah, right," Harry sighed, looking away. "I almost forgot that Lord Voldemort likes to reward his helpers…"

The pleasant warmth that was spreading through Harry's chest was extinguished by the return of the dreadful, nightmarish memories of the Dark Lord's rebirth.

"I need no silver hand to throttle me in sleep and neither I will ask you to stay the hell away from my friends, even though that's what I really want. That would be simply unfair to the rest of the Wizarding world and the Muggle one as well. Besides, you would not stop killing people just because I asked for it."

Harry turned his eyes away from the unsightly scenery of a distant mill with tall dark chimneys and looked at his silent companion again.

"The thing is ... I want no reward. I consider us even on this," he said and Voldemort, unable to help himself, twitched his head towards him automatically. "I mean," Harry continued fast, intent on explaining himself right, "if you did not come to help me with that werewolf, I'd be probably howling at the moon right now. If I were lucky. Or not - depending on the point of view."

"You dealt with Greyback yourself, Potter. I merely distracted him," Voldemort said matter-of-factly, then paused and continued in a much colder voice.

"I shall take it that there is nothing I can offer you. Nothing at all."

"Err … well, if you insist, there is actually something you can do for me. I wish you'd stop treating me like your servant. I'm not a Death Eater. Not by far. That's just wrong. Which means that I certainly don't want to be a subject of your reward/punishment policy. Period. Even being your enemy is better than that."

"Is it?" Voldemort snapped, tense like a cobra before a strike. "Are you saying that you went into the trouble of putting your life at stake to protect mine so we could be enemies again? Where's any sense in that, Potter?"

"That's not what I said!"

"Then make yourself clear!"

Harry resented how easily Voldemort made him feel low and miserable. But he could not simply tell him how he felt about him without sounding like a fool. He was not strong enough to watch the person he yearned for the most ridicule his feelings, throw his weakness into his face and make him eat it. But it was his own fault; he was the one who came up with the 'brilliant' idea of showing Voldemort the beauty of romantic feelings. It worked amazingly well – on himself. Served him right for seeking hope in hopeless cases.

Harry turned away, rubbing the boulder that was forming inside his throat.

"Forget I said anything," he said bitterly, gazing at the bed, wanting nothing more than to lie down and pretend to sleep.

A cold hand shot out and grabbed Harry's neck, pulling him back until he came into the contact with the Dark Lord's hard, unyielding body. The bony ribcage heaved against him with Voldemort's fast, agitated breath. The fingers that held his throat were far from comforting yet Harry was much more concerned about the other hand's doing. It came to rest on his chest, stroking it lightly before heading down, inch after inch. It stopped short above Harry's belly button, touching the upper hem of the towel wrapped around the slender hips. It moved again a little then, as if searching for a more comfortable position. Numb with surprise, Harry could feel how it trembled slightly on his skin.

"Forget?" Voldemort said softly, his words fanning against Harry's ear. "I can't forget anything you say. You're always on my mind, Harry Potter."

The hand delved deeper, under the wet cloth, following the crease between Harry's lower abdomen and his thigh, threading through his pubic hair, inching towards the target.

"Curiously enough, if there is a cure for this … deplorable state of my mind, I don't want it … I don't need it."

Harry was not sure whether he was more nervous or excited. He wanted to hear this so much that he had troubles believing it was really happening. Hyperventilating, he already began to sweat.

The hands that were touching him – he could no longer tell whether they were cool or hot because no cold object could possibly warm his skin so much.

And the fingers - he could precisely feel the press of each of them on his skin as they slid down his hardening length, scraping it slightly.

"Ah, so perfect...," the silky voice whispered, chilly and praising, turning Harry's knees into a jelly.

The thin, almost frail hand retreated fast to push the towel to the floor only to promptly return to the forming erection, teasing Harry again by rubbing his most sensitive area where his foreskin was attached to the underside of his shaft.

Waves of pleasure tore through Harry's body as the merciless rubbing of that spot alternated with languid strokes over his length and his balls. Unable to help himself, Harry imagined Voldemort, kneeling in front of him the previous day, opening his lips and taking him in...

He felt so hot and wet...

"Your mouth...," he heard himself groan desperately.

"Yes," the Dark Lord whispered, his warm breath sending a cascade of delight down Harry's spine. "Think about it. I want you to imagine it."

Harry's body twitched uncontrollably, nearly yanking off Voldemort's hold. Displeased, the Dark Lord hissed something under his breath, caught Harry's scalp firmly in his hand and pushed Harry towards the nearest wall, pressing his left cheek against it.

"Keep it down!" he ordered him harshly, wiping the droplets of precum from Harry using his index and middle finger. Then he drew up his hand and took the fingers inside his mouth, giving Harry quite a show since he could watch him now from the corner of his eyes.

Harry squirmed against him and moaned; his erection was dying to receive more attention and since Voldemort was busy licking his digits, Harry took the things into his own hand.

"Leave it!" the Dark Lord snapped, pressing his white lips close to Harry's ear again. "You're not allowed to come yet."

"But I..."

"Enough! Be quiet. I do not wish to hurt you this time."

The long-fingered hand that held Harry's head in place slid down his spine and took a firm grip of his hipbone, while the other one continued lower, parting his cheeks and rubbing his hole impatiently.

Harry let out a choked gasp. He would probably feel deeply offended and embarrassed, were he not so turned on already. The way he felt now, hot and needy, he welcomed it eagerly. He only wriggled slightly as the long finger drove past the muscles and started to turn and twist, pushing in and out, stretching him in haste. Voldemort dispelled most of his discomfort by licking and biting his skin, following the path between the junction of his ear and the base of his neck, carefully avoiding the healing injury. Still, Harry yelped as the second finger joined in and started to move deeper. He squeezed his muscles tightly, unable to keep the pace. He was already feeling uncomfortably full. Furthermore, the room began spinning around him, making him feel slightly sick.

Voldemort clicked his tongue with discontent and moved away a bit, so that the only connection between them was provided by those sweetly tormenting fingers inside Harry's body.

A soft rustle of the robes seeped through Harry's hyped state of mind, but before he could take a glance back, Voldemort pressed his bare body against his sweaty form and pushed the fingers all the way back inside.

"Breathe," he commanded in an aroused voice and his other hand moved briskly from Harry's hipbone to stroke his cock lightly, making his knees buckle.

"I … can't..."

It was just too much. Harry's fingernails were breaking off as he scratched the wall desperately. He tasted the plaster on his tongue as he licked it involuntarily and his glasses were sliding off his sweaty face, making everything blurry and unfocused.

He could not decide whether he would sooner have an orgasm or a heart attack.

"Do what I say!"

Harry sucked in a wild breath and then another one, not minding at all being commanded now. Besides, it helped him; he instantly felt better. The erratic pounding in his temples subsided, being replaced by a new wave of delight racking through his body as the hand caressed his cock again. Satisfied, Voldemort once again grabbed his hips, tilting them up.

"I will take you now. Stay relaxed unless you want it to hurt," he said harshly. The next moment Harry felt the hard, pulsing flesh prodding his lower back and his jitterbug returned with full force.

"Wait!" he gasped as the slick head spread his cheeks, coming to rest right above the fingers that were still inside him. He barely felt them now, but he was terrified that Voldemort might try to fit _everything_ inside him which Harry deemed completely impossible.

The Dark Lord felt him tense up and stopped his assault, returning to kissing his neck and stroking his body. Using this chance, Harry turned his head back as far as his muscles allowed and caught Voldemort's lower lip between his hungry pair in one unguarded moment. For a second, the Dark Lord just stared at him, unmoving, but then he gave in and returned the kiss in a surprisingly sweet manner.

It was delicious. Harry felt as if he were melting and dissolving in an endless sea of pleasure. Eventually, a sensation of the warm fingers sliding out of him brought him back to senses, especially since they were replaced by something substantially bigger and cooler. Harry's mouth opened up at the invasive feeling; yet, before he could respond in any other way, he felt it move past his clenching muscles, causing him a brief, stinging pain followed by a very particular sense of discomfort. To distract himself, Harry tried to recall the last time they did this and decided that though it was still far from being pleasurable, there was a substantial improvement.

"Take your time, Harry. I can wait till you're ready," Voldemort said, but the tension in his voice did not do much to convince Harry, who already felt him push a little deeper, even if it was involuntarily.

It made him grit his teeth hard.

"I'm not sure … I can do this," he said between heavy gasps. "It's still too … _dry_."

He was glad he managed to properly describe the feeling that was making the whole ordeal so offensive.

"Last time...," Voldemort began, but Harry interrupted him fast. "Last time I was ready to handle a torture, remember?"

The Dark Lord let out a frustrated growl, but he pulled back immediately, making Harry cry out and slam his palm against the wall. Extending his hand, Voldemort summoned the wand from his discarded robes, conjured up some oily liquid directly into his hand and slicked himself up in one fluid movement.

"You'd better stop complaining now," he said pointedly and dropped the wand, pushed Harry against the wall once more before sliding back through his stressed muscles.

Harry took a sharp breath – and then he relaxed a bit; it was much better indeed. It still stung a little, but the movement did not feel as if Voldemort was trying to stake him on a pole before trying to rip his insides out.

And obviously, he was not the only one who revelled in the difference.

"Harry..."

Hearing the Dark Lord whisper his name with such adoration washed the remaining tension of Harry's shoulders. And with the help of his own hand, he felt that perhaps … maybe … he could be ready.

"It's okay," he heard himself mutter over the pleasured gasps. "You can … go on."

Carefully, but resolutely he felt the pressure move deeper inside him. Feeling that, Harry drew in a nervous breath, biting into his knuckles.

"Shhhh," the Dark Lord hissed soothingly into his ear before pulling back a little.

"Tom!" Harry moaned, shivering.

"Do you like it better now?" Voldemort's silky voice inquired while his smooth hand caressed Harry's chest, playing with his nipples and then with his hair, following its downward line.

"I- I'm...," Harry wondered why he became so inarticulate, but the feeling of that stiff muscle moving deeper inside him again was overwhelming.

"Yesss!" he hissed at last when Voldemort once again took his oversensitive erection in his hand and squeezed it hard.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to breathe as regularly as possible. Also, he attempted to get into the rhythm, but it was difficult not to clench his muscles at every motion. He could not make himself completely relaxed. On the other hand, Voldemort was the last one to complain.

"Mm-mm … you're so delightful," Harry heard him whisper as he pushed into him again.

Harry stopped fretting about it; he no longer tried to force his body do something it did not want to do. Why should he when the friction was actually delicious? Moreover, the feeling of that thick, warm, pulsing length inside him was turning him on so badly that he started scraping the wall again.

"More...," he gasped and to his delight the pressure returned with more force, rushing back, slick and hard, sinking all the way in. Harry's eyes rolled back and he let out a choked cry.

Voldemort slammed his hips hard against his arse again and leaned to whisper to him teasingly.

"Is this what you want, Harry?"

Soft, aroused, enthralled voice … Harry loved the sound of it. He wanted to hear it all the time.

"Yes … yes, I want it…"

"Tell me more."

Then there was this spot inside him - Harry did not know what it was - but his enjoyment spiked deliciously whenever Voldemort brushed against it. It was driving him crazy.

"Gosh, don't play with me! I'm at my limit! Hurry up! I need it!"

"Good."

For once, Voldemort was overflowing with affection. He kissed Harry's cheek before pressing him back to the wall, but he also pulled his hips a little closer, taking them firmly in his hands, making Harry bend forward a little.

"Take a hold of yourself, Potter. I want you to come first, but give it some time."

He pulled back in a languid motion, making Harry feel eerily empty. Then he returned, with a renewed layer of slickness, pushing in and out of Harry until he stopped resisting him completely.

After those few teasing thrusts the Dark Lord quickly picked up the pace that made Harry see the stars behind his closed eyelids. It took most of Harry's strength to keep himself in a proper position due to the sheer force of their coupling. Harry did not even have to touch himself; there was so much heat pooling in his gut that one squeeze of his organ would make him climax immediately.

And he did not want it to end yet. He wanted to feel this as long as possible; he wanted to enjoy it till the very last second. It felt so intense that he wanted to cry. Somewhere between his violent breaths, crazed lip-biting and uncontrolled wall-scratching, he heard himself beg for more, encouraging the Dark Lord even more.

And then Voldemort wrapped his arms around him tight, squeezing the breath out of him as he started thrusting into him with almost a brutal force. It was coming fast: he gave a throaty cry and his body plummeted Harry's flat against the wall, riding out the crest of pleasure in fierce spasms. And Harry joined him the briefest moment later, stroking himself and cursing under his breath.

Never before he had come that hard. Never before he had experienced such violent seizures of exquisite pleasure that possessed him completely, milking him and the delicious cock inside his body to the last drop.

And never before he had felt so exhausted, boneless and drained out afterward.

His head came back to rest against the wall. He felt heavy and weightless at once and his mind was floating in some strange, happy dimension. For some inexplicable reason he felt a strong urge to laugh out and he had to fight the sound that already bubbled in his throat.

But it felt so amazing to have those white, long fingers intertwined with his own, to feel that lightly muscled arm still holding him close, to experience the pleasant rubbing of the cool skin against his sweaty one, to enjoy the movement of the slender ribcage behind his own, refusing to break away, and most of all, to feel the soft lips kissing his nape again and mindlessly whispering his name.

Lord Voldemort had feelings for him. He would probably not admit it even under the Cruciatus Curse, but Harry did not need his words. This was something an enemy or a stranger would never be able of doing. This was a direct opposite of it. And it filled Harry with so much joy and happiness that he gave up his resistance and let it out.

He was in love and it felt wonderful.

Yet, Voldemort did not seem to share his jolly sentiment because once he heard Harry's laughter, he pulled away, suspicious and glowering.

"What?" he snapped, distempered, his eyes quickly searching for his discarded robes.

But Harry shook his head and smiled at him again. "Relax, gorgeous. I'm not laughing at you."

"Not even you would be so foolish," Voldemort made a haughty remark, but his voice instantly lost its icy undertone.

"That's right ... now, come here," Harry said and pulled him into an embrace again, kissing his lips lightly. He loved how Voldemort melted into that touch, how calm and content he was, how his expression softened beyond recognition...

"I can't get enough of this," Harry breathed against his mouth before moving down to the smooth, pale neck, pecking it gently, "Let's do it again. Now. It's my turn, isn't it? And I want you so much..."

Harry felt the long fingers wrap themselves around his ribcage and then Voldemort pushed him back decidedly, pinning him to the wall. But instead of another kiss, Harry was scorched by a glare.

Harry's initial surprise was quickly replaced with irritation.

"What's your problem, Tom? If you don't want it, why don't you just say so?"

Something flickered in Voldemort's eyes, but it was not an anger. Obviously, there was still something he was not telling him and Harry did not like it.

"Or is it ... in me? Is it in my face, my name, my past or my entire existence?" Harry asked, upset.

The Dark Lord just clicked his tongue against the palate, gazing at some point behind Harry's shoulder.

"You must be tired, Potter. Go to bed."

"No! Stop doing this! Don't shut me off like that!" Harry hurled out. "I want you to tell me-"

"What?" Voldemort snapped and his eyes warned Harry that he was crossing the limits of the safe conversation.

"Why are you always treating me like this whenever I bring that out?" Harry asked firmly, not being easily intimidated. "Why do you always look so offended whenever I tell you that I want you? It's … almost demeaning," he complained, taking a hold of Voldemort's chin and making him look straight into his eyes.

That seemed to aggravate the Dark Lord to no end.

"Perhaps, it's because I wish you would finally wake up, Potter! It's time for you to see what you really want! And I assure you that my name is not on the list!" Voldemort spat out, pushed Harry away, glowering at him horribly.

Then he strode over the room, aloof and resolute, summoned his robes from the floor and dressed himself fast.

Finally, he started to pace around the small space like a wild animal in a cage.

"What I really want?" Harry repeated, feeling something nasty and tremendous hanging low in the air.

Voldemort halted, turning his flat, completely emotionless face at him.

"Do you want to know what is your biggest weakness, Potter? It's your feelings. You believe in them blindly. It fascinates me how smoothly you accepted your desire for my closeness and company instead of giving it a serious thought. Feelings can be very treacherous - hadn't Dumbledore told you that? That comes as a surprise to me, especially after all the things that I've done to you so far," the Dark Lord hissed and stepped closer to him, the fire returning into his eyes.

"Maybe it is my weakness," Harry said slowly, not sure what to think about it. "But, in my opinion, it's much better to have them than having nothing at all."

"And what makes you so sure that your feelings are really _yours_?"

"What?" Harry said flatly, taking a step back along the wall.

"Let me make it clear, then! I can't suffer it any longer - you telling me how much you want me when it was _I, boy, who made you feel that way_! It's been my doing all along!"

Harry's chin dropped. Then, after a moment of a wordless shock, a gurgling sound left his throat, slowly forming into words.

"No," gasped. "Don't be absurd."

As if this was not bad enough, Harry's scar decided to use this moment to come back to life, twitching so painfully that it made his eyes water. Unable to bear it any longer, Harry pressed his palm to his forehead.

He watched how Voldemort's face became distorted, as if agonized, but his clear voice stayed high and cold.

"Absurd? And why do you think I would hesitate doing such a thing? Ah, I admit that I dreaded it at first too, but lately I came to enjoy your company greatly."

He paused and spread his arms.

"Face it, Potter. I had to do it. I had to attempt to reclaim that piece of my soul which sticks with you, one way or the other. That's what it was all about! I am not giving up after one failed attempt and yet..."

He laughed out, emitting a bitter, broken sound.

"So much work and so much wasted effort for nothing. Apparently, I could trick you, but could not trick myself," he said and the gleam in his eyes dissipated as he looked down at the wand in his hand. "I made plans for many possible outcomes and yet, oddly enough, I never thought that you would..."

He winced and paused as if something was causing him pain. Eventually, his face blanked out again.

"Just deal with it, Potter," he said. "You could not have expected me to really care about you."

The suffocating silence spread around, poisoning the air. Harry did not even want to breathe it.

"Great. So you've used me again. Nothing new under the sun. Actually, this is turning to be quite boring," he said coldly at last, watching Voldemort turn his back at him. "Clearly, I have wasted my time and effort with you as well - but don't expect me to get emotional about it, Riddle. I learned my lesson the last time."

Harry grabbed the towel that lay disposed on the bed and covered himself to stop feeling so naked.

"Just answer me one last thing, Voldemort. Since you basically turned me into your willing whore, why did you constantly feign surprise over my expected advances?"

The Dark Lord did not look at him. He was gazing out of the window, his hand repeatedly clenching and unclenching around the wand.

"A mastery of manipulation," he answered in a chilly, empty voice.

"Right. That much is obvious," Harry snorted. His anger was bland, lacking its previous edge. Therefore, his voice was filled with regret and contempt instead.

Stiffly, Harry dragged his leaden legs over to the door, where he looked at the Dark Lord once more.

"This was the last time you fucked with me, Voldemort. Both, literally and figuratively. Remember my words."

He noticed how Voldemort grasped the windowsill for support and how his pointy knuckles nearly broke through his skin with the effort to keep himself steady and still … but it hardly mattered to Harry. The humiliation that bubbled inside him like an acid finally took over. He felt like a roll of a toilet paper in the hands of someone with acute bowel distress. To make the feeling worse, he really thought that the piece of Voldemort's soul in him was on his side, that it was protecting him and helping him. He apparently forgot that it was still a Horcrux, maybe unwilling to return to its creator, but definitely helping Voldemort with gaining control over his subconscious.

Harry's fingers wrapped around the door's handle and squeezed it hard. He wanted nothing more than to leave now. He needed fresh air and he needed to be alone. Seeing Voldemort at this very moment was paralysing his ability to think normally.

Particularly now that the man was facing him again.

Over the tip of his wand.

Something akin shock tore at Harry's core when he saw it.

"Don't tell me you're going to...," he began, but before he had a chance to fully express his deep offence, a stream of red light hit his chest, erasing his consciousness like a push of the reset button.

xxxxx

Oddly enough, it seemed just a second later when the sunshine forced its way through Harry's closed eyelids, making him groan and bury his face into a pillow.

His strained muscles relaxed once more, but soon enough the bright irritation returned, perhaps even more obtrusive than before.

Annoyed, Harry rolled over, pulling the crumpled blanket over his head.

And then everything clicked in.

Harry yelped and sat up fast, looking owlishly around the small, stuffy bedroom.

He was alone.

Voldemort was gone.

Harry's heart plummeted at the thought. Why did it always have to be like that? One step forward and three steps back. Never any real progress, only pain and disappointment. The gruesome loneliness that ate at his soul like a hungry Dementor was back, mocking him from the corner of his mind.

_'You could not have expected me to really care about you.'_

That voice, soft, almost apologetic, resounded in his skull.

And Harry groaned, thumping his fist against the mattress in frustration.

Voldemort was right; he could not have expected it.

But he could still have a hope, right? It was not forbidden, was it?

After they kissed and fucked and saved each other's life, there was a rightful place for it here, in Harry's heart...

Tiredly, he forced himself to get up from the bed and his gaze fell on the opposite wall. Instantly, he regretted looking at it. The scratches in the plaster reminded him of … the reason why the wall was so dirty at certain spots. Unable to stop himself, Harry stepped towards it and grazed it with his opened palm.

The real, veritable proof of how he felt...

It was not a lie.

It was his feelings. Not Voldemort's. _His._

No matter what Riddle said, did or believed in.

His fingertips fitted perfectly into the scratches and made Harry instinctively check his fingernails. They were broken and there was still a little blood behind them.

"What I really want...," he muttered to himself. "I know what you meant. I always wanted to be normal - a normal wizard with normal troubles, having a normal family life.

But I am not sure about it anymore," he whispered, rubbing his sleepy face.

"You shouldn't have messed with my mind, Tom. But I guess I understand - to some extent - why you did. Still, I never wanted to ditch you like that. If you could … just say you're sorry, you snaky coward, then I would … I would try my best to forgive you again. Because I want to be with you, I want to divert your attention from all that senseless killings and make you renounce it ... I want you to be mine..."

The same, heavy silence that spilled between them last night was still hanging in the air.

"But no, you must be a vicious Dark Lord, mustn't you?" Harry laughed mirthlessly. "You never apologize … never regret anything … the same way you never say 'thank you'."

Harry had to take a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. He was aware that there was no one else in the room with him, but the sound of a voice, even if it was just his own, was pacifying.

"Funny how you rather provided me with the best orgasm possible instead of saying those two simple words. And then you destroyed it by telling me that it was all just a lie. But I'm not buying it, Riddle," Harry whispered. "I'm not buying it. You felt something. You cared. I know you did."

Resolute, Harry turned around and his eyes fell on the bed again. And what he saw there made him smile victoriously.

Because there, on the other pillow, placed precisely in the middle, was his wand.

And the only way how it could get there was with Voldemort, who had to bring it back once he found himself a spare.

"Okay, maybe I was wrong," Harry whispered, approaching it slowly. "Perhaps you do know how to say 'thank you' and 'I'm sorry'. We're only using different means of communication."

The wand came alive under his fingers; he could feel the magic built up in it. A few sparks left its tip, scattering over the bed covers.

Harry nodded, clutching the handle in his hand.

Yes, the apology was (mostly and with several noteworthy buts) accepted.

However, before confronting the Dark Lord again, Harry had to find his friends. And he was afraid that it might prove to be even more difficult than finding the wizard who eluded capture for thirty years.

Deciding not to waste time, Harry put on his dry clothes and Apparated to each of the Order's hideouts that he was somewhat familiar with, starting with the Burrow. He did not expect to find anyone there, but rather hoped to discover some clue apparent only to the member of the Order, pointing him at the place where his friends were staying at the moment. Unsuccessful, Harry next went to Aunt Muriel's, Tonks's parent's house and finally, after the whole afternoon spent visiting and searching nothing but deserted places, he headed back to Hogsmeade.

If there was one person who could help him and whom he had any chance to find, it was Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth.

Luck played into his cards, because he made it to Hogsmeade about an hour before the curfew, which spared him a long and unpleasant journey through the night woods towards the unreasonably guarded village. Famished and exhausted, Harry's only thoughts were turned to the Hog's Head Inn. The only problem was, that he no longer had his old Invisibility Cloak which usually offered him safe protection. When it came to his current possession, he's only got some (false) Muggle money in his back pocket and a worn-out wand in his hand.

Having no other options, Harry quickly located an old barn aside from the main street and he headed straight towards it, unlocked the door and hid behind a dusty, oak barrel that stood inside. He had to wait until everyone's returned home. Those few minutes before the curfew had to be enough for him to make it to the Hog's Head safely.

A risky plan, but not infeasible.

It was about forty minutes later (though it felt much longer to Harry since he counted down every minute), when he decided it was the right time to move. The sun was already sinking below the horizon, casting spooky shadows over the already deserted village. Harry set off fast, crouched forward, following the bushy backyards rather than heading for the main street. Luckily, the Hog's Head was clear of the most busy end of the village which increased his chances of success. The bigger problem was that Harry never entered the Hog's Head Inn from the backyard and he could not risk trespassing the wrong doorstep. Out of spite, every shack looked just the same from the backside and Harry, cursing under his breath, realized that he had to change his plans.

Using a tight gap between two neighbouring houses, Harry inched forward slowly, trying to have a peek at the main street and check whether he already passed Zonko's Wizarding Joke Shop or not. But it was becoming too dark and Harry was not sure if the sign was removed or not which complicated things further.

Harry crawled forward, determined to find some landmark and identify his position.

Unfortunately, as if he summoned them by his presence, Harry suddenly heard fast, marching steps coming closer and closer, heading down the main road. He had mere seconds to find a cover, choosing a low bush beside an unkempt shed.

Was he too late? If he violated the curfew, they would eventually find him...

But he could still see the last rays of light touching the tall chimneys around.

Holding his breath, Harry decided to wait and see. There was hardly anything else he could do anyway.

Confirming his worst expectations, a squad of eight Death Eaters came into his view fast. Harry forced himself even lower into the dust; he did not want the events from the yesterday's night to repeat. He had to avoid the conflict no matter what.

But the Death Eaters did not seem to be searching for stragglers.

Harry raised his head just a little, trying to see better through the maze of leaves and small branches.

His heart was hammering: any louder and it would be heard...

And then he noticed that there was someone else among them; someone considerably smaller and quieter than the rest of them. Shifting a little sideways, Harry tried to identify the person. They were rather close and yet … no, it was not a goblin or a house-elf. The person was taller … hang on, was it a student?

Harry's guts curled into a tight knot. It could not be Draco Malfoy or any other seventh-year. Harry estimated that the student was the fifth-year at the most. Whatever horrible thing the Death Eaters planned to do with him or her, Harry could not let them achieve that. His fingers tightened his hold on the wand as his previous resolution to stay away from any conflict had vanished away in a tidal wave of wrath.

Suddenly, the Death Eaters came to a stop and the one who led the group turned to the others.

The student - it was a girl - started crying earnestly, but the Death Eater who was holding her silenced her immediately.

"So...," a deep voice spoke up and Harry suppressed a shiver of distaste … Snape. He could not stand the man. But maybe his ex-teacher could give him now some interesting answers about who was behind that undergoing revolt. Harry lowered his wand, listening intently.

"Is she the last one the Dark Lord requested?" the Headmaster asked in his typical, bitter, ironic tone. "Or shall I _prepare_ another one for tomorrow?"

"It is hardly my fault if the Dark Lord does not consult his intents with you, Snape!" the other man snapped, but Harry hardly heard his words.

It was too much for him to take in without breaking apart at once.

Voldemort. Rotten and spoiled to the core, gone for a couple of hours and yet already targeting students for no apparent reason...

Why would he want to do that? _Why?_

_And Harry wanted to believe in him..._

Uncontrolled anger rose in Harry and he rose with it.

Love … kindness … forgiveness...

How could he think that Voldemort deserved to know any of it? How could he sink so low?

None of these filthy pigs hiding behind the masks deserved to be treated humanely!

Someone screamed his name, but Harry was ready.

"Crucio!" he yelled back - and all hell broke loose.


	21. Ghosts of the past

xxxxx

_Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink..._

It was a very annoying sound; the one that gets on everybody's nerves just within a minute or two. No matter how exhausted and sick Harry felt, he dearly wished he could get up, find its source and destroy it.

However, the way he was now, tired and hurting, there was not much he could do about it. The noise kept cutting deeper and deeper into his brain and eventually he deduced that it had to be some new form of a torture. Surely, if he were to listen to this any longer, his head would soon start to resemble a bell, resonating with the clank.

To make the situation worse, Harry did not know where he was and he could not risk opening his eyes. It would be foolish of him to warn a potential enemy that he was awake. Still, he needed to analyse his surrounding somehow and so he employed his remaining senses. At first, he could only feel a hard mattress under his back and a touch of a coarse blanket on his skin. He also smelled a molten wax in the air, overlapping dusty undertones of an old, rotting paper. The room around him had to be small; there was no echo accompanying the obtrusive sound.

Also, Harry could swear that the floor was moving beneath him; the odd sensation was always accompanied by a burst of colourful circles dancing before his closed eyes.

Perhaps he was drugged.

Drugged and tortured...

_Clink, clink, clink..._

Suddenly, the noise stopped, and the unexpected quiet was disturbed by muffled steps and a gurgle of a liquid being poured into a dish. Then his bed creaked under the weight of someone who came sitting on it.

"Look at me, Potter. I know you're awake."

_Severus Snape._

At first, Harry did not know whether to feel relieved or upset.

Not so long ago, he would have lashed out at him, angry and frenzied, demanding answers. But that was before: things were different now. This time, Harry just raised his heavy eyelids a tiny bit, gazing at the Headmaster's blurry, hooked nose with no interest at all.

He had nothing to say to him.

"Drink this."

Harry opened his mouth mechanically and drank the acid-smelling liquid without any resistance. It tasted disgusting.

He started retching, coughing and clutching at his chest; a new surge of pain coursed through his core like a scorching blade.

"Your lungs still need further healing. It will never be as before, Potter, but you will live … for now."

Should he care? Rather not. Harry turned his head away from Snape, gazing at the grey sky through a small gap between boards covering the window.

Only when the older man removed the blanket from his upper body and started applying a thick layer of some greenish salve on his skin, he looked back down at a nasty scar running across his chest.

"Amycus," Snape said without looking into Harry's eyes. "Lacerating curses are his expertise. You're lucky he missed your heart."

Lucky?

Harry seriously started to hate that word. He snorted mirthlessly.

"Why are you doing this, Snape?" he asked at last, his voice low an raspy. "I thought that according to Dumbledore's machinations I am supposed to die."

"So this is what it was about, Potter? Have you decided to demonstratively commit suicide because you thought that Dumbledore considered you worthless?"

"No," Harry breathed, his eyes wandering over the dusty, disordered room, illuminated only by several candles. "He did not think of me that way. Everyone was dispensable in his eyes, only the price differed. That's almost … fair. I realize now that that's the only acceptable way of thinking when you're in war."

"Finally, we're getting to the point, aren't we?" Snape smirked, putting a bowl with the green paste away. "You've disappointed him."

"Good. I was disappointed with him too," Harry returned idly, gazing somewhere in a distant corner.

"Potter, once again you're acting like a pesky teenager who's unaware of the responsibilities placed upon your-"

"Shut it, Snape!" Harry yelped, choking. "Shut it! Why is everyone so intent on forgetting that I am a teenager?! Why don't you go and ask the _flawless_ Dumbledore what he had been doing in my age? His answer might surprise you!"

Snape drew back his upper lip distastefully but Harry caught his short breath and continued fast.

"Dumbledore died, Snape, leaving me knee-deep in this shit together with my equally lost friends! I thought that you could still remember that! I did my best to stop Voldemort. I invested far more than I bargained for! I went through hell and worse and you know what? I failed. What a surprise, eh? But if there is one thing I can't handle right now, it is you mentoring me what I should and should not do!"

Harry closed his eyes, trying to ease the pain accompanying his erratic breathing.

"Also, I did not ask you to Stun your friggin' comrades last night. If you've come here to blame me for your situation, find another shoulder to cry on."

Snape made a face as if Harry just presented him an average result of his potion-making.

"How very touching, Potter. I might even dry a tear at the corner of my eye," he jeered at him. "Your failures aside, you shall know that it's been _three_ days already since I brought you here to heal, and behold, I am still alive."

"But - how?"

"The Dark Lord's order is still valid, Potter. He wants to be the one to kill you and I was trying to stop my … comrades, as you say … from breaking it. Also, I managed to convince them that you Apparated away by casting Disillusionment Charm on you before you collapsed, so no one is really suspicious."

"So you've talked to him. You've talked to Voldemort afterward," Harry breathed out, raising himself clumsily onto his elbows.

"No," Snape replied slowly. "I have not seen the Dark Lord for many days now. Not once since the unfortunate meeting in the Mirror Chamber."

There was a silence in which Harry turned his eyes back to the paper peeling off the old, wooden walls.

Snape tapped his wand against his opened palm as if marking the passing time.

"More importantly, I talked to Dumbledore's portrait about you and he was very upset when I told him that you tried to get yourself killed. You may have many flaws, Potter, I won't even bother to start counting them, but you have never been the type to give up like that."

The emptiness Harry felt before started filling his head again. He was just too exhausted to feel ashamed.

"I was not trying to get myself killed. I was … angry."

"Angry," Snape repeated, keeping his face bland aside a little uncontrollable twitch that was developing in his left eye. "Harry Potter was angry. _Fascinating._ All it takes for Harry Potter to ruin years and years of hard work and planning … is being angry. I take it back. You're not like your father. You're _far worse_ than him!"

"I am so glad that I finally managed to exceed your expectations, Snape!" Harry hissed angrily.

"The pleasure is all yours."

"Look, I'm tired of this," Harry groaned, looking away. "I want to talk to someone else from the Order. Where are they? Where is Ron and Hermione?"

"I have no idea," Snape sneered.

"Weren't you the last one to see them?"

"And?" Snape asked in a drawling voice, raising his eyebrow meaningfully. "They safely left the school grounds, Potter."

"Fine! I'll find them myself then! And what about the girl? The one that your _friends_ wanted to kidnap - where is she now?"

"Miss Quirke is back at school," Snape said sternly and got up. "She was … very lucky."

Harry exhaled with relief and squeezed his eyes shut briefly. Without his glasses, everything was still disturbingly blurry around him.

"Did Voldemort ... ask for her specifically?"

"Stop saying his name, Potter. You never know who's listening," Snape retorted before straightening his spine a little more. "Anyhow, since it is not a secret, I can tell you that the Dark Lord requested any reasonably talented pureblood student that did not belong to the Slytherin House."

"Does it mean ... you had to choose one?" Harry whispered, feeling another hard knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Obviously. I could hardly ask for volunteers."

If Harry was not mistaken, he just detected a slight quiver in Snape's usually perfectly composed voice. Tired and confused, Harry dropped his head back onto the pillow, desperately trying to find any logic in that.

"The Dark Lord requested three more students ever since," Snape added tonelessly, dropping that bomb on Harry and letting it explode.

"WHAT?!"

The older man's face remained twisted in a grimace with a little twitch developing at the corner of his eye.

"Are you trying to tell me," Harry said when he recuperated enough, "that Voldemort simply asked for someone else as if nothing happened? That he did not even come here to investigate? He did not interrogate you about _anything_? He did not try to find me?"

"No," Snape said hollowly. "He did not."

"Isn't it odd at least?"

"It is somewhat unusual but things like that happened before, Potter. He must be busy."

"Doing what?!"

"I don't know," Snape sneered. "Killing the rebels in his troops, perhaps?"

"And kidnapping kids from the school for whatever creepy purpose he might have?" Harry snorted. "I can see no sense in that!"

Snape gritted his teeth hard and Harry for the first time realized how powerless and helpless the man must feel about it. Dumbledore probably asked him to keep the children safe from harm – and he was failing in that task horribly. Harry did not want to feel any sympathy for him and yet he could not help it. Both of them were exerting themselves to achieve their goals with pitiful results.

Snape took a step away from Harry's bed; he appeared to be done with the discussion for now. He packed his belongings with his usual precision, covered Harry's slowly healing wounds with a clean cotton cloth and placed the blanket over him again.

"Madam Pomfrey will come here in two hours to feed you and give you the potions. I had to place the Confundus Charm on her to protect her from recognizing you, so spare her of your insistent questions. Your glasses and the wand are at the bedside table. Oh, and if you feel need to go anywhere in your current state, Potter, you most likely die. Have a good night."

And he strode away without looking back, leaving Harry alone with his grim thoughts.

xxxxx

The next four days that Harry spent in the Shrieking Shack were particularly difficult. He lived through the endless hours by trying to put himself back together, both physically and emotionally. He exercised within the limits Snape and Madam Pomfrey set out for him, he ate as much as he could though his stomach was constantly cramped and refusing to accept any food and he practised magic, trying to improve his speed and reflexes.

The new zigzag scar on his chest was still itchy, sometimes nearly as much as the one on his forehead, but he could breathe almost normally again and that made his efforts a little easier.

Every day, Harry waited anxiously for the evening to come. He knew that Snape would visit him and tell him the news. But it was always the same. One more student gone and Voldemort did not show up. Snape, at least in Harry's point of view, was coming just as close to the breaking point as Harry was.

So, when the Headmaster finally passed the doorstep again, looking as grim as ever, Harry only took one step from the boarded window toward him and asked in a dull voice.

"Another one?"

"Yes."

"And the Order?"

"Nothing."

It was too much. Harry could no longer handle that. He had to do something or else he would go mad here.

"I have to leave, Snape," he said quietly. "I have to know what-"

"I shall see the Dark Lord tomorrow night at the Ministry," Snape interrupted him in a toneless voice.

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

"Who told you that?"

"I talked to Mulciber this evening," Snape answered in a bored tone.

"And he said that Voldemort wants to see you?"

"Not just me, Potter. Everyone."

"So … is it some kind of a usual meeting?"

Snape paused, stroking his thin upper lip with his forefinger.

"I don't think so," he said then. "I was informed that he wants to celebrate that the revolt is … over."

"What - over? Just like that? Without any culprits caught or any exemplary sentences performed?"

"Apparently, without any of it."

Harry turned back to the window.

"I don't like the sound of it," he said quietly.

"Neither do I."

"And the students?" Harry added nervously.

"He requested no one else for tomorrow."

There was a pause, heavy and tense, before Harry spoke again.

"Snape," he began, "I must go to the Ministry. I am not asking you for permission or anything like that … but since you'll be there too, just in a few hours, I want you to know something."

"What is it, Potter?"

Harry took a deep breath, stretching his healed lungs as far as they could go before exhaling loudly.

"Don't think the worst of me when you learn the truth."

At first Snape looked surprised; then he scrutinized him closely through his narrowed eyes and finally smirked.

"Don't worry, Potter. I already think the worst of you."

Harry, against all odds, smiled for the first time in many days. His facial muscles were strained a little as if having troubles remembering the correct movement.

"This is what I like about you, Snape. You can be so direct sometimes."

"I am not sure if I like the fact that you like anything about me, Potter."

"Good, because I absolutely did not mean it that way," Harry said, feeling his smile crack at the edges. "I already like someone else."

"What a relief," Snape said, inspecting Harry's expression. "You don't seem to be very happy about it, though."

Harry nodded. He could not even express how much pain could fit into his heart without tearing it apart. Every passing hour, every passing moment assured Harry of his feelings for the Dark Lord. He would do almost anything to see him again, to hear his voice again, while the man was just playing with him and using him over and over. There was just one thing that Voldemort did not have under his control: Harry could see it clearly now. The Dark Lord may have played with his mind but he did not make Harry feel that way for him. Because apparently, even without his influence, Harry felt just as strongly for him as before.

That was why he hated himself. Then he pitied himself. And then he hated himself all the more.

But there was no stopping.

No cure.

"No, I'm not happy about it. Feelings are … treacherous," Harry muttered, turning away, gazing at some unspecified point in the distance.

"This is... One person told me the very same thing a long time ago - before murdering the most lovely person I ever knew," Snape said, his voice having the edge of a razor.

"Yes, I imagine he told you so," Harry said quietly, his heart hurting. "And yet, against all his beliefs, he offered my mother a chance to live. Did you know that?"

"No, I most certainly don't want to know that!" Snape retorted, flashes of old pain leaking into his voice.

"He warned her; he asked her to stand aside several times. If he did not do that, she would not have a chance to sacrifice herself for me."

"Be silent, Potter! I said I don't want to know!"

"What if he just Stunned her instead? He even considered that option."

Snape strode over to Harry, grasped the collar of his shirt and pointed his wand into Harry's face.

"What's your point, Potter?"

"I would be dead," Harry said coldly, "and my mother would be here, hating you with passion for the rest of her life, trying very much to kill you and destroy everything you care about. My point is, would you still love her?"

Snape's trembling lips tightened into a very thin line.

"Yes."

"Congratulations," Harry said hollowly. "You're the only person I know who can possibly understand how I feel right now."

Alarmed, Snape took several steps back, measuring Harry from head to toe and back.

"I will try … very much … to pretend that I did not understand what you are implying, Potter." Then, after a long, tense moment, he relaxed his posture a bit. "When are you going to the Ministry?"

"Right in the morning," Harry shrugged.

"I'll be coming with you."

"Wait- No, I don't want you to-"

"If he's got such a power over you, Potter, you'll be needing someone sensible by your side. Besides, you're hardly an opponent in your current state."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. Then he sighed heavily.

"I'll stop him, Snape. It's not like I have a choice. I just hope he'll underestimate me too."

xxxxx

Though Harry refused to show it, he dreaded the upcoming morning terribly. He slept just an hour or two and he was already awake when Snape came back under the cover of night, bringing him a small breakfast and a cloak. Harry accepted it with a nod and ate his sandwich in silence, lost in his grim thoughts.

"In my personal opinion, Potter, you're not here to save the world. Therefore, I would appreciate if you spared me of your martyr's expression for the time being," Snape said curtly at last, breaking the stillness with his deep voice.

"Whatever," Harry said before looking directly into his eyes. "Do you think I want to be the one carrying this burden? And yet it has to be me. It's time to bring an end to this madness. I always knew this moment would come. I was just trying to postpone the inevitable."

Harry got up from the creaky chair and put on the cloak, buttoning it up to his neck.

"It is you who do not have to be coming with me."

Snape grimaced, fastening his cloak as well.

"I made a promise on Lily's grave. I have to fulfil it."

Harry felt his throat cramp and he nodded stiffly.

"What's the plan?" he muttered then, trying to change the topic.

"Plan? What plan, Potter?"

"Well, Hermione always makes one, just in case, no matter what insanity we head into."

"So, you want me to make a plan - right now, at this very moment - on defeating the Dark Lord?"

If irony could bite, Harry would be missing a couple of fingers now.

"Discussing a few ideas wouldn't be all that bad."

"I see... Let's discuss it, then. When it comes to duelling skills, Potter, you cannot beat the Dark Lord. He is the Master of the Dark Arts; I've seen him perform magic I can't even dream about. If you weren't Potter, I'd tell you that your only chance is when he turns his back on you. Nevertheless, a) the Dark Lord is always careful to avoid such a blunder and b) you are Potter. You would not use someone else's mistake for your own profit even if it should save your life. So what exactly do you want to discuss here?"

Harry squared up his shoulders.

"I only intend to fight him when I have no other option," he said. "But don't get me wrong, I am not afraid of a duel. It's still better than sitting here and watching how everything I care about is crumbling apart."

"Perhaps that's how you feel about it, Potter. However, the Dark Lord usually first strikes and then asks, especially when it comes to uninvited guests."

"Then I shall meet my end by his hand as the Prophecy says," Harry snapped coldly. "But I want to look into his eyes when he attacks! I want to see what he hides beneath his lies."

Harry raised his hand, offering it to the man whom he wanted to see dead once.

"Are you coming with me?"

"I shall make an exception."

Snape took it and squeezed it hard.

xxxxx

The world swirled around Harry, crushing him into a tiny ball, before emerging back into focus with a huge, depressing statue made of black stone dominating the scene.

He was back at the Ministry of Magic and his mind was instantly flooded by memories of the last failed escape. There was no one in sight this time but instead of feeling calmer, it made Harry even more distressed. He hated this quiet before the storm, especially when he knew that a hurricane was coming...

Merely standing here, before the statue insulting everything he believed in, was making him sick to the marrow of his bones.

"Magic is might," Harry grimaced before looking at Snape. "I wish I could blast it to pieces right now."

"It is still more acceptable than that golden nonsense that used to be here before. Furthermore, I was under the impression that we came here to find the Dark Lord and not to appreciate the artistic tastes of the new Minister, or did we?"

"I thought you'd view it differently," Harry said and cut his eyes at him. "This statue is directly vilifying Muggles and since my mother was..."

"Your mother was a witch and a very talented one. She was not a Muggle by any means," Snape hissed like an agitated viper.

"So, you believe that Muggles are here to serve the wizards?" Harry raised his voice, feeling the reality catching up on him. Without a doubt, Snape was still, in a part of his soul, a Death Eater. It also made a disturbing sense to Harry, because otherwise the man would not be able to fool Voldemort for such a long time.

"I wouldn't be opposed to it," the Headmaster said matter-of-factly, his dark eyes still scanning the large area.

"This is interesting," he added a moment later before Harry could think of some fitting retort. "The guards are missing. And when it comes to this … a part of the ceiling is gone as well."

The _what_?

Confused, Harry raised his chin, searching for some holes in the peacock blue ceiling inlaid with gleaming golden symbols. It looked exactly as he remembered it from the last time.

"I don't understand," he said, confused.

"Magic is might, Potter," Snape paraphrased before flicking his wand.

And Harry felt his chin drop.

"It cannot be..." he heard himself mutter, gazing upward in disbelief. Snape removed the concealing spell and revealed the true extent of the damage reaching up to two floors above the Atrium level. Seeing that, Harry's thoughts instantly turned to the lives that were lost during the explosion or whatever it was that caused such a destruction. There was nothing left, only wrecked walls and empty, damaged offices covered in dust, papers and broken furniture.

"Someone put up quite a fight here," Snape commented in a detached voice.

"But … two Ministry Departments are completely destroyed!" Harry yelped. "How come there is no one doing anything about it?!"

"Well, someone tried to disguise the damage. Besides, it's nearly four in the morning. Who do you expect to find here at this time?"

"Snape," Harry said rudely, pursuing the briskly walking man, "do you know who did this?"

"There is only one wizard I can think of, Potter," the older man glared at him over his shoulder. "Or an army of others."

"Voldemort? Voldemort destroyed the Ministry … when chasing down the rebels?" Harry said, feeling his stomach flip in his belly with worries.

He should not be worried for him. Not for him, damn it!

"I think I already instructed you to stop saying his name, Potter. He might as well be standing right behind you."

Harry suppressed the urge to turn around and rather looked the Headmaster straight in his eyes.

"But I want to see him," he said calmly.

"That much is obvious. The question is if he wants to see you … alive at least."

"And so you're bringing me to him, playing a good, obedient servant as usual? Will you step forward and tell him that you captured me? Will you bend your spine and kiss his robes before sending a curse into his back? Is that your plan?"

"Silence, Potter," Snape hissed furiously. "This is not a place or time to discuss this."

"I just wanted to know what to expect from you," Harry snapped back.

"Then I shall keep you guessing," the older man said icily, before prolonging his step even further.

Harry had to bite his tongue to halt another poisonous remark that threatened to escape his lips. It was not worth it. As much as he hated to admit it, Snape was right about one thing. They were here for a certain reason and he'd better keep that reason in his mind.

"Where are we going?" he asked instead, twirling the wand in his hand nervously.

"The meeting shall take place at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes," Snape said under his breath as he charged into the elevator and spun around, coming face to face with Harry, who nearly ran into him. The golden grill closed behind them with a crash and the elevator jolted upwards with the woman's voice announcing the next floor.

"Why there?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"No idea," Snape said, running his finger over his lips again. "Although, Mulciber told me that the Dark Lord wanted to show us something up there..."

"Could it be something important?"

"Perhaps," Snape shrugged.

"Fine. Let's see it," Harry said and shuffled his feet when another level was announced. It was the Department of Magical Transportation which meant three more to go, if Harry remembered it correctly. The clattering and clanking resumed only to stop a few moments later.

"Level Five, Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats," the woman said smoothly as the elevator halted once more on its journey upward, showing nothing but an empty corridor.

"I don't like this," Harry muttered when the door shut again. "I cannot put a finger on it but..."

"Too late for your doubts, Potter," Snape said tonelessly. "They already know we are here."

"That's not very reassuring," Harry uttered, rubbing the scar on his forehead.

"I am not here to reassure you."

Another stop. Another empty corridor.

"We're getting out on the third level, right?"

"Yes."

Harry acknowledged Snape's curt response and raised his wand. Nervous, he waited for the elevator to arrive at their destination. It was surely just his imagination, but it appeared to him that the lift was taking a longer time to get there. Finally, it was slowing down and Harry anxiously awaited a horde of the Death Eaters and Dementors waiting for them.

But there was no one. The corridor was just as empty as all the previous ones. The horribly familiar feeling washed over Harry as he stepped forward, followed by Snape.

"Déjà vu," he muttered under his breath. He was back in his fifth year, leading a group of underage students to the Department of Mysteries where, according to his deepest conviction, his godfather was being held and tortured by Lord Voldemort.

How very wrong he was that time. The realization made him stop and think. He did not want to repeat the same mistake twice.

"I think … we shouldn't have come here."

Suddenly, he felt a surge of panic, odd and foreign, half disconnected from him and half his very own. His scar was burning and he was possessed by a sudden impulse to run and hide: the urge was almost winning over.

Snape turned to him and watched him speculatively.

"Snape, I'm telling you," Harry pressed, breathing hard. "Something's not right."

The older man's nostrils quivered as he breathed out.

"I already told you once that I'm not afraid of death, Potter," he said, turned around and resolutely strode down the hallway, his black robes fluttering behind him.

Harry gritted his teeth and slowly set out to follow him. He could roughly discern what was wrong now; the piece of Voldemort's soul inside him was panicking in a way that Harry had never experienced before. It cost him all his resolve to trail after the Headmaster instead of heading back to the still invitingly opened door of the waiting elevator.

But his curiosity was also a driving force. What could possibly scare the darkest wizard of all times so much that he wanted to flee? And why did he want to show a thing that frightened him so much to his Death Eaters this evening?

He caught up with Snape half way down the corridor. The Headmaster was busy opening every door he passed, scanning the rooms fast.

Harry did not ask what he expected to find inside. Without exchanging any words, he started to do the very same thing, inspecting offices, one after another, seeing nothing interesting at all.

"Potter."

Harry stopped and looked ahead. He saw Snape standing in front of a small, dingy door at the very end of the corridor, looking rather concerned.

"What is it?" Harry asked, coming over to him.

"It must be here," Snape said, tapping the wand against his palm.

Harry did not need to ask what he meant by that.

"Is the door locked?" he asked instead.

"There is a rather harmful spell placed upon this handle. If someone touched it without knowing, they would not have a chance to regret it."

Harry gulped dryly, looking back at all the door knobs he turned just a moment ago.

"How do we get inside, then?"

"We do not need to get inside, Potter," Snape said, coming to kneel on one of his knees. "There are cleverer ways how to get what you want; and you don't even need to use a brutal force. I'd been trying to teach you that during the last year but it seems you weren't listening to me at all, as always."

Harry took a step closer, watching Snape attentively.

"A little Extension Charm cannot hurt here. I'm sure it will go unnoticed if it is done properly and precisely."

Snape flicked his wand and the small keyhole slowly started to grow larger and larger. Eventually, Harry heard a loud clink announcing that the key on the other side fell out.

Carefully, Snape leaned closer, peeking inside.

Almost instantly, Harry saw his back grow rigid. The man froze completely. He kept staring inside as if he could not believe his eyes.

"Snape," Harry hissed under his breath, looking up and down the empty corridor, nervous. He could barely handle the suspense; he wanted to see what was inside too.

"Snape!"

As if in a trance, the Headmaster got up and took a step back. His face was constrained and unreadable.

Without waiting another second Harry took Snape's place, knelt down and peered inside, holding his breath.

The room was dark; he could barely see the walls in the distance. The only source of light provided four huge, black candles burning at the edges of a massive table, or an altar (Harry could not properly discern it) covered with black satin. His first impression was that he was looking into a _morgue_.

Because there was a body lying on that altar.

Numb, stiff, arms crossed over its chest.

No signs of life.

At that point Harry could not hold back a scream gurgling at the back of his throat.

That body belonged to Lord Voldemort.


	22. The Badger's Revenge

xxxxx

It was like sinking into that old nightmare again; only this time Harry was not staring at Dumbledore's broken body and neither at Sirius, falling through the veil. It was his enemy who was lying there, motionless and seemingly dead.

The sheer impossibility of the sight aside, Harry realized that this was supposed to be the moment he had been waiting for. This was, after all, everything he yearned for ever since he learned who brought about the death of his parents. Harry had sworn to destroy Lord Voldemort more than once; he had spent countless hours dreaming about how it would feel if he ever managed to achieve such a feat.

But that was before Harry learned the previously unseen and unknown side of Lord Voldemort and stupidly, recklessly fell in love with him.

There was no joy or happiness in his outcry. Instead, he felt as if someone just ripped out his insides and ate it for a dinner, leaving him bleeding to death. And all of that for a man who deserved nobody's compassion.

Harry could not care less about the honourable path he was deserting, he did not mind that he was sinking lower and lower, dragging everyone else along. He just needed to see him; he needed to be sure that the man on the altar was really him...

Plagued by his thoughts, he reached out for the bronze handle, but somebody slapped his hand away before he could touch it.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" Snape said mockingly.

"What's your problem?" Harry yelped in return, stabbing the man with a glare. "I'm going inside!"

"Ah, don't be so pathetic, Potter! Shall I remind you that the handle's been cursed? Touch it and you die."

"As if you care!" Harry snarled, although he felt somewhat mortified. It embarrassed him how easily he fell into that obvious trap.

"You're quite right, Potter. I wonder why do I still bother," Snape replied in a bored tone.

Cursing under his breath, Harry heaved himself onto his feet and retreated to the opposite wall.

"Step aside, Snape," he said with a hardened expression and raised the wand.

"Or what?"

"Just. Step. Aside."

"Potter, if you expect me to let you cause any disturb-"

Harry flicked his wand, sending the man flying backwards. He could deal with him later.

"Expulso!" he cried out then and the door exploded, sending splinters in everywhere.

"POTTER, YOU RECKLESS IDIOT!"

Harry did not wait and listen for further insults that Snape was hurling after him. Instead, he squeezed himself through the broken door and hurried over to the Dark Lord's side.

Until that moment he tried to pacify himself with a thought that it could be a mere hoax, but his hopes diminished quickly at the sight that was presented to him. Being this close to him, there was no mistaking: the man who was lying on that horrible altar was without a doubt Lord Voldemort. Harry could even see the tiny scabs on his left cheek, a healed reminder of their cumbersome escape from his relatives' house.

Harry's wand slipped from his slacked fingers and clattered on the stone floor, but Harry paid it no heed. Instead, he took Voldemort's face into his palm and rubbed his skin gently with his thumb. The white, smooth complexion felt drier and colder than Harry remembered, but it was still pliant and supple. Harry was no doctor, but he was fairly convinced that Voldemort was still alive, regardless the man's total lack of response to his presence.

"Tom," he leaned to him, whispering. "You're not dead. I know you're not. You must wake up."

Harry turned his head to the side, placing his ear close to Voldemort's mouth.

"Spare your breath, Potter. He cannot hear you."

Snape entered the room and strolled over to Harry, reminding him of a narky bat that was just disturbed from his winter dormancy.

Harry straightened his spine defensively.

"And what makes you say that?"

Snape made a face that was worth a thousand words.

"He's not dead," Harry said in return, pointing at Voldemort's chest as if it held all the evidence. "He's breathing! I think."

Snape's black eyes left Harry's face and located the unmoving dark wizard on the altar.

"Breathing, you say...," he repeated to himself, possibly searching for that imperceptible movement, before stabbing Harry with his powerful glare again. "That makes him much luckier than us in a couple of moments."

"I know I overdid it, Snape," Harry said calmly. "And I am aware of the danger we're facing at a moment. But try to understand me – I need to know what's going on here first!"

"Well," Snape drawled out before coming closer and carefully raising one of the Dark Lord's closed eyelids. "If you need to know it so badly, Potter, I think it's safe to assume that he is in a vegetative state."

He pointed a shining tip of his wand at the dull, dilated pupil.

"See? No response."

"And what's wrong with that vegetative state?" Harry insisted.

Snape gave him a wry smile.

"It's a state of a body without the presence of a mind. There are basically only two ways how a wizard can reach it magically, Potter," he said and his eyes returned to the Dark Lord. "The first one is when he's possessing someone else. The second one is when he receives the Dementor's Kiss. And now, if you excuse me, I am leaving to celebrate this. You're free to stay here and face the wrath of the Death Eaters all by yourself again."

"Wait!" Harry yelped angrily after the retreating man. "You're saying that he's not possessing someone else at the moment?"

"He's the Dark Lord, Potter!" Snape grimaced over his shoulder. "He would be awake long before you even approached that door, if he could. You shall know that possessing the others is not without tremendous risks. It leaves your body completely helpless. If someone kills it while you're inside someone else, your death is inevitable. That's why the Dark Lord always used the most complex spells to protect himself. The fact that none of them is working right now is the only evidence I need."

"So, you believe that he's been subjected to the Dementor's Kiss! And you think that even though you know that those dreadful monsters are completely under his control!" Harry protested heatedly, refusing to give up just like that.

"He doesn't have a wand," Snape replied in a bored tone, cutting his eyes at Voldemort's empty hands.

"I seriously did not expect his last fight to be so uneventful. What an embarrassing demise for such an almighty dark wizard. I must say I'm only sorry that I could not be here and watch it."

Harry held Snape's gaze for a moment, realizing that they were never meant to really understand each other. The man had an incredible talent in wishing the worst fate to the people Harry came to love dearly. And he had no mercy for his enemies.

"I used to think the same," Harry said simply. "But that was before I learned that cruelty can never save the world."

Snape only shook his head with disappointment.

"Your kindness and chivalry will be your downfall, Potter. Mind my words."

And with an acid smirk still on his lips, he turned to leave, but his body was suddenly surrounded by a vicious green halo.

Harry did not even have time to be shocked; the pain in his scar sharply peaked to the point where he could only scream until his sore lungs hurt. Sinking to his knees, Harry clutched at the burning old mark on his forehead, gasping for breath. A sour taste of vomit tingled at the back of his throat, making him sick.

It was the sound of a body hitting the floor that brought his thoughts back into focus.

The curse had found its victim.

"Snape!" Harry cried out at last, but as he feared, no one answered him.

His insides turned over again.

According to his scar, it had to be Voldemort's work. Perhaps the man only pretended to be defeated; it could be his plan from the beginning to find the traitor in his troops and Harry just played into his cards...

Releasing the clutch on his forehead, he expected to see the Dark Lord raising from the altar, sneering at Snape's dead body...

Yet, Harry saw no such a thing when he looked up.

Voldemort was still there on that altar, showing no signs of being conscious let alone striking someone dead, despite the constant pulsing of Harry's scar.

There was someone else entering the room, though.

The cloaked figure was stepping over Snape's body, raising the wand again...

Harry's instincts took over. He jumped forward, his hand almost reaching the wand that he dropped a few moments ago.

"Incendio."

Harry howled in pain and jerked his hand away, watching the wand burn to ashes quickly.

He could not believe it was over before he even engaged in a fight.

His opponent clearly refused to play the game according to the rules.

There would be no proper duel.

No fair chances on both sides.

Not wanting to die on his knees, Harry got up clumsily, holding his scorched hand.

"Who are you?" he gasped out, blinking tears out of his eyes.

He only caught a glimpse of a pale skin under the hood.

The wand was still pointed at his chest.

"Avada..."

It was the moment when Harry finally recognized the familiar voice.

He struggled to keep himself upright. No, it could not be possible - but...

"Bellatrix?!" he yelped and the person paused, considering something for a moment.

Then she slowly lowered the wand and stepped closer to him.

Bewildered, Harry watched the woman remove the hood from her head.

"Surprised, Potter?" she asked softly.

"But I saw you die!" Harry gasped out in disbelief.

"No," she smiled sweetly. "What you saw, Potter, was my glorious rebirth. And I shall feel obliged to you for that forever."

 _"Rebirth?"_ Harry choked out, backing from her instinctively.

"Ah, I see that I have to explain that... I hate to repeat the old man's bad habits when it comes to his victory speeches. However," she paused dramatically before pointing at Harry, "where would be the fun in that if you died without knowing the truth? It's quite a story after all, starting about some fifty years ago."

"Are you talking about the day when you were born?" Harry said pointedly, feeling the back of his legs meet the altar behind him.

Bellatrix tilted her head a little; a gesture so familiar that Harry froze between breaths.

"You mean Bellatrix?" she said softly, her long black hair falling over her shoulder. "Honestly, who cares about that woman? No, I'm talking about the day when I was put into a prison. A prison so horrible that twenty years in Azkaban would feel like a blessing in comparison."

Harry looked quickly at Voldemort, who lay motionless behind him and then back at Bellatrix.

And then he did it again.

"You're catching up fast, Potter, but you're not quite right," Bellatrix said smoothly.

"Wait - you cannot be Voldemort. He was never in prison," Harry said resolutely. Since he did not know what was going on yet, he needed to stick with facts.

"Wrong, Potter!" Bellatrix gritted her yellow, uneven teeth at him and her black eyes flashed red. "You're _wrong_! I was imprisoned with absolutely no chance of escape. And the only thing that kept me sane for that insufferably long time were my thoughts of revenge! Ah, Potter, if I had any idea about the price I had to pay for my achievements, I would have never even considered them!"

Harry tried to gulp down the dry sand that began to form inside his throat. Slowly, the pieces began to fit together and the resulting image was beyond horrendous.

"You're a Horcrux," he whispered at last. "You were locked inside Helga's cup, weren't you?"

"Touché," Bellatrix smirked victoriously. "It took the old man twice as long to figure it out. I absolutely loved seeing his face when the realization dawned upon him. Revenge can be so sweet sometimes, don't you agree, Potter? It can bring forth the most delicious pleasure."

Harry's sweaty, unhurt hand grasped the altar for support.

"What did you do to him?!" he said, his breathless voice wavering with barely concealed fear.

"Tell me, Harry, why are you so upset? You should be happy to see the old man like this," she smiled slyly in return. "Or maybe not. I have claimed most of his recent memories and I must say that those concerning you are really … something."

 _"What did you do to him?"_ Harry repeated in a lower voice, clenching his healthy hand furiously.

"Nothing too bad - at least in his opinion - since he thought it was okay to leave me like that for fifty years," Bellatrix replied venomously. "He's just trying out how it feels to walk in my shoes for a while. I understand that it's hard to imagine being deposited on a dark shelf in a locked vault forever. It's not just the boredom; all you can do is to relive your existence over and over while counting the bits of dust falling upon you – one after another. You can count them up to a million and then start counting again - ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times and still nothing, no change, no life to live... You'd be praying even for a little suffering at that point!"

She rolled the wand in her fingers, allowing Harry to recognize it.

"I almost gave up at one point, but then you appeared, Potter, and inadvertently saved me."

"I did not-"

"Oh, yes, you did. Or, more specifically, your friends did when they successfully escaped from Gringotts," Bellatrix continued softly, "At first they tried to destroy me. I felt really threatened at that point, but luckily they changed their mind and decided to place a curse upon the container I was locked in. This curse was meant to kill the old man the moment he touched it, but as you well know the first person who came in contact with it was Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry held his breath and the sudden silence spiraled horribly.

"Once she touched it," Bellatrix continued silkily as if she did not notice the growing uneasiness, "I was instantly pulled into her body and I was confused and shocked at first. I did not know who was that woman, I saw her only once before when she put me in her vault. You see, I completely lacked any appropriate resources. Fortunately, Bellatrix's mind was a veritable mine of information. I instantly learned that she was obsessed with the old man and that she was quite a powerful witch. I allowed her a part of the control over her body and she quickly proved to be a trustworthy follower. I let her know who I am and she was incredibly pleased to do anything I wished. I soon found out that she was tailing after the old man for years, she knew his habits, his preferences... She was even watching you from the shadows, Potter, when you were a captive at Malfoy Manor. She knew that the old man was becoming obsessed with you and I used the wrath she felt for my purposes. Oh, how lucky I was all of a sudden! By possessing her, by feeding off her emotions, I was becoming stronger with each day. I only needed to find out what happened to me and set my plans in motion - and I knew who I had to question first."

"Bill," Harry breathed out, feeling completely exhausted at that point. Here he stood before the murderer of Bill Weasley, of Severus Snape and how many others and he was completely helpless to stop him...

"Precisely. Bill Weasley was my primary target. I captured him soon enough and interrogated him. I must admit, I was kind of disappointed by how trivial the curse proved to be in the end. Following a simple magical gradient, it sucked the magic from the place abundant with it into a presumably empty container, killing the magician in the process."

"But you weren't an empty container," Harry whispered against his will. "You had more magical power than Bellatrix could ever dream about."

"I see why Dumbledore picked you as his favourite, Potter. You're not half as dull as you seem to be. Anyway, that's basically how it was. The curse flitted out of the cup, turning Bellatrix into the container. And I was pulled inside her, becoming stronger and stronger by receiving her magic and magic of all the other Horcruxes that were connected to me through the old man. It was like a dream becoming true. All of a sudden I had a cooperative body, a wand, my powers, necessary knowledge and a handful of unsuspecting followers that I could easily control and manipulate, especially thanks to certain Harry Potter who kept the old man properly distracted from the real issues."

"He suspected you," Harry said resolutely. "He suspected what was going on, but he was hoping to be mistaken. He was intent on believing that he would never mean to harm himself."

"And he told you all of that, Potter?" she said poignantly, her eyes flashing with that red gleam again.

"He gave me some clues," Harry snapped, rubbing his itchy scar. "When we were in the Mirror Chamber he told me that what had happened to his Horcruxes was a fate worse than death. I did not know what to think about it until now."

"Yes, he was quite right about that. By refusing to sacrifice you that day he spoiled my plans a bit. Everything would have happened so much faster. Hah, he thought that I meant no harm to him … what a fool! If he knew how much I suffered for him, while he lived his luxurious immortal life, he would be running away from me or gathering powerful troops to fight me back till his last breath...," Bellatrix said with the same cold indifference Harry remembered hearing in Voldemort's voice.

"Anyway, he did not care about it and that made him rather clueless about me. So I used my first chance to steal the Elder Wand from him during the battle over Privet Drive and I nearly captured him back then as well, but you managed to snatch him from my grasp again in the very last second. Not for long, though. The night you ditched him, he searched me out, but it was too late for him to stop what I started. I had taken over all the key positions. He fought me valiantly, but he lost and I won. And now the world will be mine."

"Never! We will stop you! Even if you kill me now, the Order-"

"Ah, no one bothered to tell you yet?" Bellatrix interrupted him sweetly. "Do you want to know, Potter, where your precious Order is?"

"If you hurt any one of them-!" Harry whispered, failing to hide his terror.

"Oh no, they're all here, in the Ministry dungeons. I caught them one after another as they were attempting those silly rescue missions. First Bill Weasley, then you, and later on it did not really matter since I had quite a number of them already. They're awaiting tonight's execution – but don't worry, Potter. Since you've helped me so much, you'll be given a chance to tell them your good-byes before you all die."

It was the moment when Harry lunged at her, aiming at her throat. And the next second he fell to the ground, his arms and legs tied together with thick ropes that were cutting hard into his skin. The last loop was wrapping itself around Harry's throat, slowly throttling him.

"No, Potter," she whispered and lifted Harry's head a little so he could see her face. "There will be no more fighting. I told you that I won. You will be dead soon. It's a little pity though ... because now I can see why the old man fancied you so much. You've got some spirit. You even did not fear to show him his own face filled with lively emotions. And he became so envious of it - of you and your feelings. You made him give into that weakness and that's how you destroyed him as you always wished. One would find it hard to believe what power is hidden in your sweet kisses, Potter."

"You're lying...," Harry gasped out against the tightening rope. "He was … only using me. He told me so."

Bellatrix seemed to be very pleased with herself after hearing Harry's strained words.

"Oh no, Harry. He merely put you to the test and you failed him completely."

Harry struggled for another breath.

"I - don't - believ-"

"You see, the old man never messed with your mind, Potter," Bellatrix jeered at him. "Not once since the incident at the Ministry a couple of years ago. He only told you that he did because he wanted to see what your reaction would be. He was becoming quite attached to you, but you cured him right away by proving him how little you thought of your own feelings for him. You showed him that you believed them to be false right away."

"Shut - up!"

Darkness began enveloping Harry's mind, regardless of how much he fought it.

"He really liked you. You heard me, Potter. The old man was developing a very soft spot for you. It was so unhealthy that I had to do a little pruning of these rotten parts," Bellatrix said in a soft voice, gesturing towards Voldemort. "Do you understand now, how fragile love makes you, Harry? Look at the old man; he is _my_ Horcrux now. The tables have turned. And now, he will be lying here forever, a prisoner of his own mind, while I will rule the world. And all of that because of you, my dear Harry. And now...," she leaned to him, her lips mere inches from his, but Harry could hardly see it any longer.

"We shall see each other again at 7 p.m. this evening. Remember the time, Harry. It will be the hour when I will proclaim my new rebirth in front of my Death Eaters. It will be the time of celebrations. And it will be the time of your death."


	23. Draco Malfoy's life debt

xxxxx

Bellatrix sneered at Harry before releasing the constricting rope around his throat at last. She was done with him for now. Rolling up her sleeve, she pressed her Dark Mark and turned toward the broken door, waiting patiently for the Death Eaters to come. The two of them showed up soon enough and without asking anything they seized Harry under his armpits and lifted him from the floor. They did not show even the slightest concern about Professor Snape's dead body and neither about Voldemort's motionless form on the altar. Harry had no doubts about the cause of their disinterest; he could see their unfaltering gazes watching him idly from beneath their masks, proving that there was an Imperius Curse at work.

Although Harry was quite aware of the pointlessness of his resistance, he still fought them back as they tried to take him away. He refused to bow his back and admit defeat like the others did; he refused to give up without a proper fight. And if that faulted piece of Voldemort's soul inside Bellatrix thought that he was finished, he did not know him properly yet.

Ultimately, it was Bellatrix's barked command that stopped her henchmen from mistreating Harry any further. Following her order, they seized him again and hauled him all the way back to the lift and down to the Department of Mysteries. Harry's stomach clenched at the thought of being taken to the Death Chamber. If they killed him now, who would find his friends and liberate them before Bellatrix could effectuate her threats? He tried to calm himself, to concentrate on finding the solution, but his thoughts buzzed as frantically and fruitlessly as wasps trapped beneath a glass. Without Ron and Hermione's help he could not seem to marshal his ideas. His only distraction became the Courtroom No. 10 where his disciplinary hearing was held all those years ago. The Death Eaters, however, passed it without notice and dragged him on and on down the seemingly endless corridor. Silently, Harry started counting the torches on the wall to keep the track of their route.

The masked men came to a final stop at the number nineteen and shoved Harry closer to a heavy door with nasty iron bolts all over its ironclad surface. Without exchanging a single word, the taller of the two stepped forward and flicked his wand repeatedly. After a moment, the door began to open and Harry was unnerved but also somewhat curious about what he would see. It could not be more uneventful; from the little light that was leaking through, Harry noticed that there was just another staircase leading further down into darkness.

Then, suddenly, the other of the two grabbed Harry's neck and before Harry could brace, he was pushed down the stairs violently. Following his instincts, he tried to catch on to the banisters, but there was nothing except bare, slippery walls. The lack of light was completely disorienting; soon Harry did not know where was up and where was down. He kept falling down the stairs, rolling around uncontrollably, trying to protect his head and glasses at least.

He hurt all over and yet the pain of the multiple impacts was not the worst part of it. There was something else down there; something nasty and hideous lurking in the dark at the very bottom of the stairs. Harry did not see it – but he could feel the horribly familiar chill creeping up his mauled spine, effectively paralysing his body and mind.

A scream died out in Harry's throat.

He would much rather face the Killing Curse or even the Death Chamber – anything was better than them.

"Help," he gasped out, desperate to stop his plunge and crawl back towards the door.

But all he saw was the quickly thinning ray of light … the door was closing on him, confining him there… with them.

"NO!"

BAM.

The light disappeared and Harry was alone.

The darkness was absolute.

And then they came floating closer. Over his madly beating heart Harry could hear their elevated, rattling breaths. They were excited, eager to feed on a new victim. Harry fought his nausea – he could not let them get him. He needed to fight back... His friends needed him... But it was like the black waters of the freezing pond closing upon him again, filling his chest with iciness until he was choking, and washing out everything except dread and despair.

Harry gritted his teeth; he knew that he had to keep his mouth shut no matter what but he doubted his ability to resist their attack for too long. Sooner or later he would lose consciousness and that would be the end.

His breath hitched in his throat when the dead, slimy hands slowly wrapped themselves around his arms and torso, lifting him up with a mockery of care.

They were going to Kiss him and this time there was no one who could stop it from happening.

The disgusting, scabbed hands took hold of Harry's face, sliding over it as if inspecting it. The Dementor was probably considering his meal at this point, drawing another deep and loud breath. Harry clenched his teeth even tighter, resisting the icy crust clamping on his heart and the black fog that threatened to overpower him. Barely clinging to his awareness, he heard the voices coming straight from his nightmares. He heard Dumbledore whispering his last plea to Snape and then Bellatrix cackled madly - celebrating her victory over Sirius. Her poisonous voice then spoke to Harry directly, telling him that she would kill everyone he cared about and he could do nothing to stop it...

And then someone cried.

At first Harry thought it was just another memory filling his tormented mind but when he heard it again, he realized that the sound was real. Someone else was here with him - and for some reason Harry felt his despair thin out. The presence of another person served him as a reminder that he still had a purpose. He was not alone and his friends were counting on him. His sudden recuperation also repelled the Dementor, who lost interest in his renewed vitality. They dropped him on the cold, stone floor but before Harry could do as much as turn around, a new rattling sound of a different kind surrounded him again.

Hard, metal chains wrapped themselves around Harry's wrists and ankles, tying him to the ground, cutting all of Harry's hopes before they could even form.

As the rasping breaths of the Dementors faded out and the worst chilling sensation left Harry's mind, he started to hear other things … quiet voices and mutters.

"They left at last."

"Someone new is here..."

"Someone brave … they did not start crying yet."

"Or puking, like I did."

"Perhaps they fainted."

"Or they've been Kissed."

"Don't say that, Dora. Remember what I told you - you must resist your fear. Stay focused!"

Harry held his breath, happy and frightened all in one. It was his friends, he was sure of it. They were alive - but how many of them survived? And for how long?

"We need to know who it is."

"Yes, but if we are too loud, we'll draw _their_ attention again..."

"Hermione?" Harry whispered, responding to the voice that was the easiest to recognize.

There was a shocked silence in which no one dared to speak for a while.

A moment later, Hermione's soft, disbelieving voice replied.

"H-Harry? Is that you?"

The darkness subsided a bit but only enough for Harry to see the black outline of Hermione's bushy hair close to him.

"Yeah, it's me," he whispered.

She made an odd sound at the back of her throat as if she just suppressed a wail of relief.

"Harry … It's Harry! He's alive! He's here."

The mutters grew in intensity, allowing Harry to recognize more voices.

"Remus? Tonks?" he gasped.

"Yes, it's us, Harry. But you must keep it down folks," Remus's calm voice spoke a little louder, "or as Hermione said, we'll attract them again."

"We thought you're dead, Harry," Hermione said throatily and by the rattle of the chains Harry assumed she extended her hand towards him. "We were certain that you failed to obtain the cure for You-Know-Who … and that he killed you for not providing him with what he needed."

"He didn't kill me, Hermione … well, he did plan on killing me at first, but he changed his mind. But more importantly, what happened to you? How come you're imprisoned in here?"

A hard fist clenched around his heart at the thought of how long his friends were locked in this dreadful place. Was it hours? Days? _Longer?_

"How did they catch you? And where is Ron, Hermione? Where … where are the Weasleys?" he stuttered out, failing to stifle the budding fear in his voice.

"We don't know, Harry," Hermione replied shakily. "We came to the Ministry to search for you, hoping that we could still rescue you. Well, you and Ginny, to be exact."

"Ginny?"

"Yes, she's gone missing right after you. When we returned to the Order's hideout, we told everyone about you and how you sacrificed for us. Ginny … she completely freaked out. She thought that it was all her fault. She thought that she drew you away from us, made you feel unwelcome… She regretted being so unfair to you."

" _Unwelcome?_ Cut that nonsense, Hermione! I've never felt that way in your company."

"We know that, but no one could change her mind. She immediately decided to come here and tear down the place if necessary, only to find you. She did not mind risking her own life for a tiny hope of seeing you again. She … I guess she wanted to make it up for you."

"What?" Harry said, incredulous.

"You can imagine that we could not leave it like that. Neville, Ron, Remus and I followed her, but You-Know-Who's Death Eaters had been waiting for us. We had no chance against their numbers. They took our wands and separated us. I haven't seen Ron ever since."

Harry could hear that she was close to tears, although she still bravely resisted it.

"Don't worry about him, Hermione," Harry said soothingly. "Ron is a fighter. Besides, he and Neville are protected by their pureblood status. I really doubt she would kill them first."

"She?" Hermione said, probably thinking she misheard him.

"Eh … I'll explain that later," Harry muttered. "First, I need to know what _Tonks_ is doing here! Why didn't she stay home with Teddy?"

Harry knew that Remus and Tonks were listening intently to his every word and his suspicion was confirmed when Tonks responded to his question right away.

"Remus is still mad at me for that, Harry," she sighed and took a deep breath. "But I couldn't … I simply couldn't stand aside when my husband was captured and … and … you could have been killed Remus," Tonks whispered and the sound of her chains moving told Harry that she tried to get closer to her spouse.

"We've discussed this already, Nymphadora," Lupin said sternly. "I told you my opinion. You're lucky to be still alive. I could have easily killed you all last week."

"You could do … _what?_ " Harry said in disbelief.

"It was a full moon, Harry," Hermione whispered. "It was really terrifying. I hate to say it, but these chains actually saved our lives."

Harry shuddered, wondering how he could possibly forget about that. It was the night when Bellatrix - or the Horcrux, to be more specific - attacked Voldemort for the first time.

"You're here for over a week?" Harry muttered, feeling worse and worse still.

"Yes… We don't know it exactly because they don't feed us regularly, but ... we … ehm, girls … we can tell according to our … ehm … you know … periods."

"Oh," Harry shifted uneasily. "Right. Periods. Of course. This could actually explain his despicable behaviour. He's about to get one and doesn't know how to deal with PMS."

There was a brief silence in which everyone tried to comprehend Harry's words.

"Eh," Remus began worriedly. "Perhaps they hit your head too hard?"

"What?" Harry said distractedly.

"This could be a result of an unsuccessful Confundus Charm too," Hermione added knowingly.

"Harry, who exactly are you talking about?" Tonks decided to speak to Harry directly.

"Well, Voldemort, of course."

The silence returned, more constrained than before.

"Err, the truth is that I've never dared to check, but I was always under the impression that Voldemort is a man," Lupin said at last.

"Oh, yes. That's what he normally is…," Harry said sullenly, "...but quite recently, he decided for a change."

Hermione coughed to clear her throat.

"What change, Harry?"

And so Harry told her. He described her the events in the Mirror Chamber and how Voldemort refused to kill him there, then he mentioned the battle at Privet Drive, emphasizing how the Dark Lord suspected his own Horcrux but Harry did not make the connection. He also told her how he returned to Hogsmeade and how he ended up in Snape's care. Hermione occasionally interrupted him, suggesting her ideas or asking for further explanation, but when Harry got to the point of describing Snape's death, she was struck silent with shock.

"Bellatrix?" she said when Harry finished summarizing the past events and silence fell over them again. "Bellatrix is possessed with You-Know-Who's Horcrux and that Horcrux actually defeated You-Know-Who?-!"

"That's right, Hermione," Harry nodded.

"And you've seen him. You can confirm it. You've seen Vol- Voldemort," Hermione concluded.

"Yes … I have."

Harry bit his tongue; he did not mean to say it like that - not in that tormented tone.

"In my opinion," he added weakly, "he is completely unaware of his surroundings. There's nothing he can do about the state he's in."

"Then I wonder why is the Horcrux still with Bellatrix?" Hermione said quietly. "Why didn't it take control over himself?"

"You mean over Voldemort's body?"

"Yes."

"It's still a Horcrux, Hermione. It's tied to its container."

"Which is Bellatrix now."

"Which is Bellatrix," Harry confirmed. "Besides, I'm pretty sure the Horcrux is actually terrified of his own body. If he tried to gain control, his other half could get the upper hand again and crush him to bits. That's why he plans on avoiding it forever."

"That's horrible!"

"My sentiment exactly. But that's not something we can solve from here. We need to get out of here first. I don't know how much time we've got left, but it could be as little as an hour before they come for us. We need a plan and..."

"Harry."

It was Lupin, who interrupted him. He spoke to Harry for the first time in many minutes and his broken voice was giving Harry chills.

"Do you think that we haven't tried yet? Believe me, Harry, we've tried _everything_. There's no way out of here. None at all. I'm sorry."

"Remus, I simply refuse to..."

"We would need a help from the outside. That's the only way. We need someone, who would know where to search for us. So, I'm asking you, is there anyone you can think of?"

Harry felt his throat tighten. There was a couple of people who were still free and most definitely on their side, but Lupin was right about one thing. No one knew about their current predicament. Even Harry did not know about it hours ago.

"It means...," he said at last, "...that I need to challenge Bellatrix for a duel. Unlike Voldemort, she is not really interested in fighting me, so I have to provoke her somehow. That's the only way. I have to fight her and defeat her. It's a little chance, but it's all I can think of..."

"Look Harry, if she (or he) is really the way you described her, she is just going to slay you on the spot without giving it a second thought," Lupin protested.

"I know it's risky," Harry countered, "but since we have no other options..."

In that short, hopeful pause Harry waited for another suggestion.

Instead, he felt how the trusting gazes slowly turned away from him one after another and someone started sobbing again.

"Who is it?" Harry breathed out.

"It's Alice, Mike, Tony and Helen. They're Hogwarts students," Hermione replied solemnly. "They don't remember how they'd gotten here and neither what they had done to deserve this imprisonment. They're all purebloods, by the way."

"They have no memories of what happened to them?"

"They only remember being taken to the Ministry by the Death Eaters and that's all."

"It must be Snape's missing students, then!" Harry whispered excitedly. "Voldemort – no, Bellatrix asked Snape for a new student every night since she defeated Voldemort. And Snape was becoming truly desperate about it because he could not protect them."

"Protect them from what?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Harry muttered, thinking fast. "But Voldemort told me once that he had to possess snakes during his exile in Albania. He told me that it shortened their lives significantly. I can only assume that Bellatrix's health is affected in a similar way. And since he needs her even in the future, he doesn't want to destroy her like he destroyed Quirrell, for example."

"So you think he's using the students as her substitutes?" Hermione gasped for breath.

"Giving her time to regenerate. Yes, that's exactly what I think. Do you remember what Ginny said about being possessed by him?"

"She said she did not remember anything from that time! She thought she was losing her mind!"

"Exactly."

"Oh, god! Harry we need to stop that! That's … that's completely insane!"

"Hermione, keep it down!" Lupin hissed at her urgently. "I think they're coming back!"

They fell into a silence, disturbed only by quiet whimpers of the crying girls. Harry held his breath, staring into the darkness and feeling the gloom seep back into his soul. The Dementors were indeed returning, eager to torment their victims a little more.

"Everyone, don't panic! Stay focused!" Lupin commanded, but Harry barely heard him.

He could already feel their nasty chill and closed his eyes, determined to resist them better this time. Since there was no safe place in his mind where he could hide, he retreated into the darkest corner of his soul, the odd vacancy after the link he shared with the Dark Lord. It's emptiness was frustrating, but Harry still decided to stay there, submerged as deep as possible. Dementors were known to feed on happy memories and feelings and fortunately, there was nothing pleasant about that strange, desolate place.

The chill increased, freezing Harry to the marrow of his bones. He drew back even further, refusing to give the Dementors any reason to approach him. He knew that the monsters had a special liking in his person and he did not want to endanger the lives of those around him by spurring that interest. Dudley Dursley could tell a story about that...

Yet, oddly, the more he was backing into that nothingness, the colder he felt.

It seemed that he could not hide from them anywhere he went...

Then there was this shocking, hideous taste in his mouth, as if he did not brush his teeth for a month.

Harry grimaced and tried to spit it out, but it did not work.

What was even stranger, the air suddenly tasted different. He did not remember smelling wax in their prison before.

Since the creepy feeling in his spine announcing the Dementor's presence subsided, Harry decided to take the risk and ask his friends if they were all right. Yet, when he tried, he encountered another unprecedented problem. His tongue was firmly stuck to his palate, refusing to budge. And as he forced it to move, the nasty taste on his palate exploded, making him gag.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, already aware that something was seriously wrong and the nicely lit ornate ceiling above him only confirmed his suspicion.

Harry blinked repeatedly; his eyes felt dry and sore, but the colours and the details above him were perfect, striking in its purity and Harry watched them for a while, wondering what felt so familiar about that perception.

Still completely confused, Harry succeeded in lifting his uncooperative head a tiny bit until he was gazing down at two tall, black candles that were burning at the foot of that stone bed he was lying on.

Harry's breath hitched in his throat.

No, it could not be possible … but still...

Everything finally clicked in and he suddenly knew exactly where he was.

He was inside the Dark Lord's _real_ body.

It perfectly explained all the weird perceptions he felt.

Harry only wished he had any idea how he managed to do that.

Excitement and embarrassment washed over him as he thought of what Voldemort would have to say about that.

And then there was sadness filling his heart when he realized that the Dark Lord could not stop that unintentional slip of his upset mind. Voldemort was simply not there ... he became just another victim of himself.

Nothing could be more frightening and at the same time ironic than that.

As he lay there and the minutes passed by, all the possibilities started to pop in Harry's head. He realized that he was out of his confinement: all he needed to do was to get up, go to the Department of Mysteries and save his friends!

Well, only if he could drive this … surely gorgeous ... but totally uncooperative body.

"All right, Tom," Harry said in the Dark Lord's cool, raspy voice. "Don't worry, I'm going to help you too, but first I need you to do something for me. Now, get up."

Unfortunately, the body did not seem to be very much interested in Harry's commands.

Harry did not expect it to be that difficult. Last time it was pretty easy. On the other hand, last time he was still inside his own body which only looked like Voldemort's.

"I said get up, dammit. You're not _that_ old, right?"

Harry felt not even a twitch of a muscle.

Could the body be sulking?

Harry doubted it.

"Oh, come on, dear... I'll get you something to drink. I'm terribly thirsty. Eh … I take it back, _you_ are."

Now, that was the motivation that actually worked. Harry considered it a little disturbing but definitely hopeful sign; it appeared as though there was some residual self-awareness in Voldemort after all. One that failed to communicate with Harry directly, but still had wishes and urges of its own.

And the thought of quenching his thirst was strong enough to set him in motion. Harry found himself sitting up, feeling a painful constriction in each of the long unused, congealed muscles.

"Now, that's better," he sighed, rubbing the cramp in his neck.

Then he looked down at his large, pale hands with sharp, overgrowing nails. They were so unlike his own and yet so … painfully familiar. Harry put them on his bony cheeks and fought the stabbing pain in his heart.

"How could you let her do that to you, Tom," he breathed and it came out as a sob. "I know you could stop her. I know you could … if you really wanted to."

He took another raspy breath.

"I'm sorry I let you down. I was an idiot, speaking without thinking... And she used my weakness against you as she used it against me... But I'll make her pay for this! Can you hear me? Can you...?"

The odd, satisfying warmth filling his insides was all Harry needed for an answer.

"We'll do it together. But first … oh, damn," Harry snarled as he looked at the door that once again blocked his way out.

"She repaired it."

Harry got up and nearly collapsed as his knees were nowhere ready to sustain his weight.

He was weak, wandless and as much of a prisoner as he was in his own body.

His eyes inadvertently wandered down to the floor where he last saw Professor Snape's dead body. It was gone, making Harry wonder what she had done with it. Probably disposed of it, erasing him from existence.

Harry vented his building anger with an agitated hiss.

Snape might have been a sly Death Eater responsible for the death of his parents, but he also saved his life many times over and if it were not of him Harry would be surely long dead.

Stumbling, Harry overcame the short distance to the door and tried to open it. As expected, it did not move. There was not even a handle from the inner side and even if there was, Harry knew it would be cursed.

He was trapped.

Harry leaned against the door's solid, wooden surface and attempted to put Voldemort's extraordinary brain onto the shortest way to solve the problem. There had to be a solution after all; Voldemort had to have his ways how to escape if cornered...

Harry felt a twitch in his left forearm and scratched it absently.

Sadly, his mind was empty like Ron's stomach in the morning; there was just nothing useful he could think of. He briefly considered using Voldemort's Animagus form, but the door was sealed too tightly and the room had no windows. He would never make it through that little keyhole...

The forearm tickled Harry again and he rubbed it more vigorously.

And then he stopped.

And then he took a deep breath, holding his hand there for a second.

Slowly, he rolled up his sleeve, revealing more and more of that white, translucent skin.

Harry had to bite into his lip.

It was there, the Dark Mark, but it was not like any of those Harry had seen before.

Although the skull still had a serpent instead of a tongue, it also wore a royal crown that dominated it all.

Horrible but alluring, one could call it a piece of an art. Harry decided to call it freedom.

Out of all the Death Eaters, there was one Bellatrix would not consider particularly important to her or dangerous enough to keep him under the Imperius Curse. Coincidentally, Harry knew that this Death Eater was also owing nothing less than a life debt to Hermione Granger. And Harry thought it would be only fair to give him a chance to repay it.

With his forefinger above the Dark Mark, Harry hesitated.

And then he pressed it.

The reaction was instantaneous. A fire ran down his arm without burning him. It was like sending that fire to the other person, letting him know that his presence was requested.

Just a second later, Draco Malfoy Apparated right beside Harry with a loud popping sound. He instantly sank to his knees and pressed his young face against the dirt on the floor.

"My Lord," he muttered breathlessly, shaking all over.

Harry was impressed by how little time Draco needed to reach him. On the other hand, he could not think of a single occasion where he would see Voldemort use his own Mark. Perhaps the Dark Lord saved it only for emergency cases.

The longer Harry looked at Draco, the more likely the explanation seemed.

"Draco," Harry said at last, feeling rather odd. He had never called him by his first name before. Draco had always been Malfoy to him.

"You may get up. I have an important task for you."

Everything was working out quite nicely so far, but Harry knew how fast things could take a wrong turn. He needed a back-up plan and Draco could provide it.

"I need water."

Thinking about the wrong turn, Harry just encountered one. Apparently, the body was thirstier than Harry felt. There had to be some disproportion in sensitivity towards the inward impulses that differed between Harry's body and this one.

It resulted in him saying something entirely different than he actually wanted to say.

Draco, who in the meantime got up since he did not dare to disobey his master, glanced at Harry's face for the first time before averting his eyes again.

"My Lord?" he muttered, obviously uncomprehending but afraid to ask.

"Conjure a glass of water for me, Draco," Harry tried to save the day in a more classy style.

Although confused, the youngest member of the Malfoy family did not dare to object. He raised his wand and a second later a glass of water appeared in his outstretched hand.

Harry snatched it and downed its content eagerly. He wiped his mouth, but the thirst was still the same.

"More!" he commanded and Draco had to repeat the spell three more times before Harry told him to stop.

"That's enough," Harry said after finishing the last cup, watching Draco's attempts to avoid his eyes.

"What's the time, Draco?"

"It's half past six, my Lord," Draco replied quietly. "Most of the Death Eaters already gathered in the Atrium, as you requested."

Harry's insides clenched like a fist after hearing that. It was nearly too late – he desperately needed more time.

"Damn it!" he hissed venomously, making Draco crouch before him.

"I need your wand," Harry said, changing his plans quickly. It was most unlikely that he would be able to get to his friends unobserved. He did not even know where Ron and the others were kept and if only one of the Imperiused Death Eaters spotted him sneaking to the dungeons, they would immediately inform Bellatrix. The confrontation was unavoidable now, Harry could see that.

He needed a wand that could ward off even the Deathstick.

And there was only one he could think of.

"This is my mother's wand," Draco whispered, drawing Harry's attention to him. Harry saw how firmly he clenched it in his hand. "Please, my Lord, I beg you! My whole family relies on it. If I lose it too..."

"When you say your whole family, do you mean your aunt as well?"

"My … my aunt Bellatrix?"

"Yes, your aunt Bellatrix."

"N-no, my Lord. She keeps a distance from us recently."

"I am not very surprised. Anyway, I need your wand just for a minute. Then it will be yours again," Harry said, trying to shake off the guilty feeling. It was him, after all, who lost Draco's wand somewhere in the ruins of the Gringotts bank.

Draco looked up at him again and this time he did not break the gaze as fast as before.

He nodded jerkily and placed the wand into Harry's opened palm before bowing to him deeply.

It was a different kind of fire that ran through Harry's body at the contact with the object. It was the most pleasurable, exciting sensation he felt in a long time. Well, Harry knew precisely when he last felt better than that, but he did not want to think about it too much, particularly not in his current body. But it was still so thrilling … Harry closed his eyes … he was powerful again … there was nothing that could frighten or stop him any more...

No.

Harry forcefully displaced those feelings, concentrating on the task.

"Take my arm, Draco," he said, feeling the nimble fingers wrap themselves around his elbow a moment later.

"Hold on to me tighter."

The soft touch turned into a much stronger clasp.

"That's better," Harry nodded before turning on the spot.

A fraction of a second later they resurfaced again … in a crowd.

"What?" Harry gasped, looking around the wide street full of people. Some of them even stopped their hasty pace, regarding them curiously, forcing Harry to quickly pull a cape over his head.

Harry cursed under his breath again; this was not the destination that he wanted to reach. He took Draco's elbow in return and pointed towards the nearest seclude corner.

"My Lord, may I be so daring and ask where...?"

"Little Whinging," Harry snapped, his eyes scanning the surroundings fast. He wanted to Apparate directly to Privet Drive, but, obviously, the Anti-apparation shield was still on.

There was a clock ticking in Harry's head, counting down the time his friends still had left, and the possibilities thinned out with every passing second.

"All right," Harry whispered and closed his eyes briefly, trying to make a right decision over the chaos in his head.

"Draco," he said at last, "You will go to Hogwarts now. Find Professor McGonagall and tell her to immediately gather the remaining troops of the Order of the Phoenix. They need to get to the dungeons below the Department of Mysteries and set the imprisoned members of the Order free. Tell her that she's only got time till seven o'clock because after that all the prisoners will be executed. And tell her that … that Harry Potter will try to buy them some time."

Draco's wide eyes completely failed to hide his bafflement.

"But … my Lord … she'll laugh into my face."

Although Harry could not imagine Professor McGonagall laughing after hearing such a message, he knew what Draco meant.

"Swear the Unbreakable Vow," Harry said sternly.

Draco lost all the colour in his face.

"You don't have to worry. You'll be telling the truth."

"My … my Lord, I am terribly sorry, but I … I still don't understand..."

"You don't have to understand anything. Just do as I say!"

That was the beauty of being the Dark Lord. At this very moment, Harry could finally appreciate it.

Draco dropped to his knees again.

"Yes, my Lord," he whispered with a tremor, waiting patiently.

Harry knew perfectly well what he was waiting for. It was the wand that Harry still clutched in his hand and no matter how hard he tried, the fingers refused to release it.

"You can take it back," Harry said, upset with Voldemort's rebelling body.

Unsure, Draco looked up, watching his wand in Harry's hand.

"I said take it!" Harry snapped and Draco hesitantly curled his fingers around it and pulled.

But those white fingers only tightened their grip.

"Don't make me say it again!" Harry snarled and Draco, white-faced and sweaty, had to use all his strength to tear it out of Harry's grasp.

The feeling of loss was so dreadful that Harry felt like breaking the young man's neck in order to steal it back.

Just keeping the body still was exhausting.

"And one last thing, Draco," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Don't tell anyone that you've seen me. Now you go. You know what to do!"

Frightened, Draco nodded, got up and instantly Disapparated.

Harry gave himself ten seconds - only ten seconds, he actually counted it down – to calm himself. Then, when he was certain that nobody around could hear him, he muttered to himself.

"Stop pissing me off, darling. We need to cooperate on this!"

And then he set out for a mission to find one very special laundry basket.

It was the time that was his enemy now.


	24. In the same boat

xxxxx

There was one thing Harry could not fail to notice as he walked down the main street of Little Whinging, his black, heavy robes sweeping imperiously behind him. Visiting such a public place during rush hour and in the Dark Lord's body was clearly a fool's errand and Harry regretted not considering an alternative plan beforehand. The problem was that Muggles, usually blind to business that did not concern them directly, had developed this most intrusive tendency to stare at him instead of doing … whatever they were doing before.

Even worse, they tended to do it collectively.

Big cities like London provided strangers with some sort of anonymity at least, but Little Whinging was a small town – a place where everyone knew everybody. Harry could almost hear the gossip swelling behind him like a thunderstorm during a hot summer day. Within a few minutes he had a small mob of locals hot on his trail, eager to find out his whereabouts. Obviously, even the Muggles could be unpredictable sometimes, Harry realized, for he could not fathom why Lord Voldemort's appearance failed to keep them at bay this time.

When the distance between him and his 'followers' shortened to mere fifty feet, Harry took a quick glance over his shoulder, recognizing the leaders of the pursuant squad: it was Malcolm, Piers and Gordon, previous members of Dudley's gang, who still had nothing better to do than vandalize streets, terrorize children and pester the newcomers, apparently. Attending the school or, God forbid it, finding themselves a job was far beneath their dignity.

Briefly, Harry was tempted to wait for them and introduce himself as Harry Potter's old friend from St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. The look on their faces would be surely priceless, but, regrettably, he was running out of time and on top of that he thought he saw Mrs. Figg in the crowd. If she was really there, she probably had troubles believing what she was seeing and Harry refused to give her any more evidence. Mrs. Figg was an old lady who would likely have a heart attack if she saw Lord Voldemort prancing around the street where she lived. Also, she would hardly appreciate the Dark Lord giving her CPR, Harry imagined.

Pulling his black hood deeper in the face, Harry turned a corner into Magnolia Crescent and prolonged his step even further. The positive thing about Voldemort's extraordinary height was his ability to speed up without losing his grace. Back in his own body, Harry would have to be trotting to keep this pace and yet Lord Voldemort still glided down the street like the ruler of the world.

Or, perhaps like the ruler of the world who was about to be dethroned, Harry clarified the thought before his eyes finally came across the building he sought most. Excitement began to course in his veins as he let the vision of the yew wand linger in his mind. The icy, sickening feeling that resided inside him seeped away from his chest, leaving something akin warm delight in its wake.

At that point, Harry, following the inner compulsion that drove him towards that wand blindly, nearly ran into a new silvery Toyota parked in a driveway to the house he once had to call his home. Blinking fast, Harry tore his eyes off the obstructive vehicle and turned it towards the building, noticing large plastic sheets covering the missing part of the roof. The kitchen window was opened wide, curtains fluttering lightly behind it.

Could it be … the Dursleys?

But they were supposed to be still in hiding, weren't they? Have the members of the Order entrusted with their security been captured as well? And if so, why did the Dursleys return to Privet Drive when they knew, when he explained them over and over, the mortal danger they were in?

Harry's bitterness for his only living relatives flared up once again.

Fine. If the Dursleys wanted a lesson so much, they would get one. They had it long coming.

Resolute, Harry passed the car, walked up the three steps to a tiny porch and rang a doorbell twice, ostentatiously ignoring the remaining gossipers hiding behind Petunia's overgrown hedge. The more onlookers, the better, Harry decided. He had lived with the Dursleys long enough to know how touchy they were about anything out of the ordinary around their house. Their worst fear was, if Harry was correct, that someone would find about their connection to people who practiced magic.

It was time their neighbours learned the truth about them.

There was only one thing that bothered Harry a little as he waited for his uncle to come and open the door. He would be upset if he had to deal with Dudley too, but according to his knowledge, his cousin still attended some private school in Birmingham. Piers and Polkiss dropped out of Smeltings two years ago, but Dudley, whose personality changed completely after the incident with Dementors, became quite a responsible person. That made Harry wonder whether he should arrange a similar meeting for his cousin's friends too...

Harry turned his attention back to present then since the shiny bronze doorknob moved smoothly and the door flew open half way, revealing Uncle Vernon's broad figure.

And yet, Harry's first impression of him was how _small_ his uncle appeared.

Harry was, in fact, looking down at him.

It was a marvellous feeling.

"Hello, Uncle Vernon," he greeted him softly, feeling Voldemort's frightening little grin spreading beneath the hood.

The healthy colour of the other man's fleshy face retreated quickly, leaving only a few angry, purple blotches on his cheeks.

"Who are you? What do you want?-!" Vernon snapped rudely, his walrus moustache bristling and his piggy little eyes fluttering quickly in a way one would try to chase away a phantom that should not exist at his doorstep.

Harry said nothing as he patiently waited for the latter to put two and two together. He did not have to wait long.

"You - did you just call me an _uncle_?"

Vernon's tone clearly indicated that he considered having any kind of relation to someone wearing a hood during a sunny spring evening an act against a law. Also, he must have noticed the growing bunch of eavesdroppers hiding behind the hedge and that alone, Harry believed, was making him see red.

"Isn't it how Harry Potter used to call you all these years he had to live here?" Harry said, his voice still smooth and pleasant.

"Potter? You mean … _that Potter_?" Vernon raised his voice threateningly.

"The very same," Harry nodded slowly.

"Well, in that case ... GET AWAY FROM MY HOUSE YOU FREAK! THERE IS NO POTTER LIVING HERE ANYMORE! I WON'T SUFFER ANOTHER LUNATIC FROM THAT CRACKPOT BAND OF PSYCHOS EVER SOILING MY DOORSTEP AGAIN!"

That was exactly the response Harry had been waiting for. He straightened his long spine and pulled down the hood.

"Oh no, Dursley, I'm afraid you'll have to suffer my presence for a little longer. If you do not know who I am, let me introduce myself. I am Lord Voldemort. I believe Harry mentioned my name to you on several occasions and I also believe he told you why I would come one day for a visit."

Vernon's chin dropped instantly and he seemed to freeze between one breath and the other. He stared at Harry's snake-like nostrils as if in a trance, unable to draw his eyes further up and meet the devilishly red pair of irises that was burning holes into him.

"Or didn't he?" Harry said silkily, taking a daring step forward.

His uncle retreated with a loud squeak.

"It makes me wonder," Harry took another step, making Vernon press his suddenly sweaty back against the nearest wall, "why did you come back, Dursley? Tired of your boring, provincial life already?"

"Mumblemumble mumblegodhelpmemumblemuble mumble..."

"What was that?" Harry hissed.

"Mumblemumblesweetjesusmumblemumble..."

"Are you _praying_ now, Vernon?"

Harry leaned closer to him and sniffed the air.

"Mumblemommymumbledaddymumble..."

"Oh, Dursley," Harry sighed theatrically, looking down at a pool of smelly liquid forming at his uncle's polished shoes. His trousers were already soaking wet.

"You _didn't_ , did you? Ah, you know the rules - to the cupboard with you. Now!"

Harry grasped Vernon's collar and dragged his massive, unresponsive weight further into the house before pushing him among the boxes in the small cupboard under the stairs. He slammed the door shut then and through the ventilation opening he hissed cruelly.

"And no dinner for you tonight!"

"Vernon, dear, what was tha-?"

Harry looked up fast and saw his aunt craning her long neck from behind the kitchen corner.

As expected, a long, ghastly scream followed and Petunia's horse-like face disappeared again.

"Stay where you are, Petunia!" Harry bellowed at her in such an appalling voice that the onlookers who started poking their curious noses into the hallway dashed out of the opened door, running for their lives.

"I'd like to have a word with you - or two."

Harry entered the kitchen and his eyes automatically sought out a digital clock at the kitchen unit. His throat tightened painfully at the numbers he saw. If it showed the accurate time – and the clocks at the Dursleys always showed the accurate time – he had only eleven frigging minutes to save his friends.

And the rest of the world too, for that matter.

Niceties of a family reunion aside, Harry needed to find Voldemort's yew wand immediately.

"Petunia," he snarled at the woman who was desperately trying to climb over a windowsill.

Harry pointed his long, white finger at the empty linen basket on the floor, fighting his growing uneasiness.

"There was a cloak in that basket," he said in an urgent voice. "What did you do with it?"

His aunt was terrified beyond words. She stared at Harry, her eyes wide as saucers, her body completely petrified.

 _"What did you do with it?"_ Harry repeated, each word heavier than a concrete panel.

A tiny, unintentional twitch of her eyes towards the garden was all Harry needed for an answer. He rushed to the window, pushed her back into the kitchen rather ungallantly and looked outside. There, in the middle of the usually nicely kept lawn, was a pile of smouldering ashes.

In the dead silence that spread through the room, Harry only heard a washing machine running its cycle somewhere behind him.

"There was a magical wand in that cloak," Harry whispered darkly, turning back to his aunt. "Did you take it?"

She said nothing, draining Harry's remaining hope even further.

Harry always knew the Dursleys were a menace. He just did not know how destructive that menace could turn out to be...

"Have you burned it too?" Harry breathed out, almost too afraid to ask that. He doubted his ability to stop Voldemort if she nodded. Hell, he even doubted stopping himself.

Aunt Petunia's nerves, however, could not take the strain any longer. Her eyes slowly turned to the ceiling and the next moment she dropped to the floor like a bag of bones.

The digits on the kitchen clock showed 6:51.

Harry let out a frenzied scream. It was just too much; he was so tired, pissed and desperate - he only wished he could have another mental breakdown similar to the one he suffered after Sirius died but sadly he knew that being childish would help nothing at the moment.

He looked down at his large, white, empty hands.

Here he was, in the body of the greatest wizard alive, completely powerless and invalid.

_Fucking perfect._

And as he stood there, listening to his wheezy, irregular breath, the sound of police sirens suddenly entered his feverish brain.

If they were coming for him, he had no usable means of escape...

The finality of his decision to come here instead of using Draco's wand against Bellatrix weighted heavily on Harry. He had sent Draco to his death. He had failed the Order, his friends ... everyone … including Tom.

And all of that because the Dursleys made him stuck here, wandless and helpless.

"Think, Potter … dammit, think!" Harry whispered, forcing himself to breathe more steadily while rubbing his sunken temples.

If he recalled it right, he pulled the wand out of the cloak's pocket before dropping it back into the basket.

So, if Petunia overlooked it there by chance ...

With his heart hammering in his chest, Harry turned to the washing machine and hurriedly pushed the stop button. The possibility of the wand being inside was small but not completely negligible. Petunia must have been out of her mind when she found a sorcerer's cloak in her house and in her distraught state, she could, in theory, omit that relatively small object and stuff it into the washer with the rest of the laundry.

Harry tugged at the plastic door of the washer, trying to unlock it maybe a little too violently.

How long did he have to wait?

One minute? Two? He surely did not have more time than that.

The sirens went off somewhere really close to the house and as Harry quickly looked out of the window, he saw a police car idling in the driveway behind Uncle Vernon's silvery Toyota. Three men in uniform stepped out of it and now they were heading towards the house.

"Damn it!" he gasped, slamming his hand against the machine while pulling at the handle as hard as he could.

Plop.

A heap of warm, soaking wet clothes fell out on the floor and Harry started to rake it frantically.

"This is police!" a booming voice came from the front door. "We're coming in!"

Harry muttered few juicy curses under his breath, his fingers working even faster.

"HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP ME! I'M LOCKED IN HERE!"

Luckily, Vernon knew how to draw attention to himself. His fists nearly broke through the poor plywood as he pounded the walls of the cupboard hysterically.

"THERE IS A HORRIBLE MONSTER IN MY HOUSE! KILL IT! _KILL IT NOW!_ "

_Damn you, Vernon. Damn you!_

And then Harry found it. Just when he was about to give up and run, his fingers grazed that cursed – now blessed – object hidden in a crumpled shirt. By a miracle, it survived the nearly whole washing process undamaged and Harry gave himself three seconds to thank whatever Justice was up there before grasping it and getting to his feet just in time the policemen tore into the kitchen. A few seconds later they all slept peacefully next to Aunt Petunia, except Uncle Vernon, who started running up and down the stairs, screaming like a maniac. Harry decided to leave him at that. It was healthy for a man his age to get some exercise every now and then.

 _Six_ minutes left.

Harry rushed out of the house.

There was no chance he could make it past the wards in time, unless...

His eyes fell on the police car that stood in the driveway, its engine still running.

Harry crawled into a driver's seat without a second thought, looking around insecurely. Flying a broom seemed like a piece of cake compared to this button and lever overload. The problem was that Harry had never driven a car before; he knew the theory (as any other Muggle raised boy) and he had watched his uncle driving numerous times (since he could hardly engage in a pleasant, mutual conversation with him) but none of that seemed very helpful at the moment. Perhaps, it would be much easier, if it was not a police car he was about to steal.

How lucky for him to be in Voldemort's body at the moment. Sorry, Tom.

After a quick check, Harry decided it was a manual car, since it had three pedals on the floor. Following instructions on the gear knob, Harry pressed the clutch to the floor and shifted the knob into reverse. His white, spidery hands looked indescribably odd on the black, plastic steering wheel and Harry tried not to stare at them too much as he pressed the accelerator, revving the engine. Regrettably, he must have overlooked something quite important, because the moment he lifted his sole from the clutch, Uncle Vernon's new Toyota was parked all the way up on the porch and the fender of the police car was nicely dented around it. Furthermore, the impact provided Lord Voldemort with a mild concussion plus a very profound bruise on his forehead.

Wonderful. If he was going to survive this by a miracle, Harry mused, he was _so_ dead anyway.

The second time around, however, Harry was much more successful and he shot out of the driveway in a desired direction, smiting down a waste bin that stood in the way. Once on a relatively wide street, Harry found the constant chattering of the police transmitter nearly as distracting as the surrounding vehicles that kept blocking the path he chose for himself. Perhaps, it was partly his fault since he did not yield where he should have and his driving skills were practically non-existent. He could probably solve this problem by turning on the siren (if he knew how to do that), but since the digits on the dashboard flipped from 6:59 to 7:00 Harry ceased to care.

Knowing the approximate range of the Anti-apparation perimeter, Harry braked forcefully once he passed it, sparing a brief look at himself in the rear mirror. The purplish bruise aside, his face could easily belong to a zombie from a horror movie. His white, gaunt, snake-like face had this subtle greenish undertone so commonly seen on people who spent too many weeks on a sickbed and his scarlet, slit-pupilled eyes were clouded, seemingly reflecting no light.

Harry felt too tired to even climb out of the car, let alone engage in a duel with the Dark Lord's demoniac Horcrux. Unfortunately, he could hardly call Bellatrix and ask her for a break.

The time was up.

7:01.

The numbers shone silently at Harry as if trying to mock him.

It was the sounds of other police cars that were coming after him, which eventually woke Harry from his mild stupor.

He let out a long breath.

Gathering his resolve, he forcefully pried his hands off the steering wheel and opened the door, climbing out of that cramped space.

Unfolding the body back to its full height, he let Voldemort's fingers curl around his wand again.

It did not help much to quench the violent frenzy that bubbled inside him. Harry was in no control over the emotions that were Voldemort's only. Slowly, step by step, Harry was learning the differences between a mere identity theft by the use of Polyjuice Potion and a complete possession. Although his mind was mostly in charge in both cases, controlling someone else's body was about sharing his senses, perceptions, memories, feelings and thoughts. Even though Voldemort was technically unconscious, the connection between them was much stronger than their usual mental link. Harry came to fully realize this when he tried to focus his mind on the destination that he needed to reach and felt Voldemort's first real resistance.

In return for his attempt to Apparate he received a full dose of the Dark Lord's pure, unmasked and unfiltered fear of death.

It felt like an electrocution.

It left a nasty, bitter aftertaste of blood on his tongue.

It filled his mind with such horrors that Harry, for a few moments, could not think straight.

It made him want to crawl into a corner, cower and beg for mercy.

Harry staggered heavily, leaning against the windscreen for support.

He was horrified. Although he thought he knew a thing or two about Voldemort's paranoia, this experience really opened his eyes. He could hardly fight that mental disorder by force of his simple, untrained, teenage mind. And even if he could do that by a miracle, forcing Voldemort's strong will to submit to him would be indisputably the worst idea he'd ever had.

But he _had to do_ something. His friends could be _dying_ at the moment and he was their last and only hope...

"She won't try to kill you," Harry spoke aloud at last, trying to appease the traumatized body with the sound of its own voice.

"Because you won't try to kill yourself," he continued, knowing how desperately Voldemort wanted to believe that.

"But you're hurting yourself real bad and I want to stop it. I care about you, Tom."

The violent tremors that racked his body ceased slowly.

"I want to protect you and I swear I'll do my best, but I can't do it without your help."

Harry clenched his slightly trembling hands into fists.

"I need you, Tom. Don't leave me here like this. _Please_."

And then, amazingly, the panic that pulsed inside him gradually subsided to a manageable level and Harry felt that he was in control once again.

In the meantime, the police reinforcement had arrived and they were causing quite a commotion in that peaceful suburb, but Harry paid them no attention. His priorities shifted from Muggles to Voldemort. It was essential that both of them were working together to achieve the same thing. Because if they could not cooperate in this task, they were both doomed the moment they reached the Ministry.

No one could guarantee Harry the success, but one thing was for sure.

They were, obviously, in the same boat and Harry was the captain here. So if the worst happened and this ship was going down, Harry knew for sure he would not be leaving it first.

That was the only reassurance he could offer to Voldemort and from what he could tell, the Dark Lord's residual consciousness seemed to accept it.

And so Harry was finally ready to turn on the spot and he did so right away, effortlessly disappearing in front of the upset officers, leaving them and a half of Little Whinging in silent wonder.

xxxxx

The very first thing Harry felt when he regained corporeality was the cold air enveloping his skinny body and seeping into his mouth and lungs. It tasted after dust and ashes, irritating his sensitive palate.

The perception was brief, nullified by other senses demanding Harry's immediate attention. But it was a horrible drawn-out scream that eventually brought Harry into a state of full alert.

Slowly, he crouched a little and took a peek at the Atrium from beneath a marble mantelpiece. He knew that a Ministry fireplace was a good spot for Apparation since he could hide there quite easily and if someone noticed him standing there by chance, he would not appear overly suspicious.

Unfortunately, the amount of time he could spend in a chimney was quite limited since loitering at a Floo Network exit asked for troubles of having someone else arrive right onto your shoulders unexpectedly.

Still, Harry decided to use every second he had to learn the most about the situation. His piercing red eyes glanced over the large area, seeing only the Death Eaters at first. Their numbers were frightening: they filled half of the Atrium, forming a large circle around the 'Magic is might' statue.

And there he finally saw her, Bellatrix Lestrange, standing on the pedestal in the middle of them, seething with rage and torturing some young man Harry could not see properly.

"I am not your _aunt_ , Malfoy!" Bellatrix bellowed, revealing the crying boy's identity. " _I am the Dark Lord and it's time you finally accepted it!_ "

Harry's heart plummeted right into his stomach and he felt like throwing it up. The fact that Bellatrix had Draco in her claws thwarted Harry's plans completely...

Carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible, he stepped out of the fireplace and took a better look at her.

No one seemed to notice him as every pair of eyes was turned towards the drama ahead.

"And you Narcissa," there was another loud bang followed by a terrified cry, "stay out of it or else you'll meet the same end as this brat!"

"No! _Please!_ He's innocent! My son is innocent!"

"Innocent, you say...," Bellatrix said haughtily, "then how come the Carrows caught him as he was trying to convey a secret message to the remaining members of the Order?"

Her wand cut the air again.

"Crucio!"

Draco's body almost lifted off the floor as it thrashed around in fierce spasms. Harry could almost feel that monstrous pain from mere listening to his cries. It got his body moving.

"I did it on the Dark Lord's orders! I swear it! Please! Please!" the youngest Malfoy screamed between sobs. "I swear it by Salazar's name!"

The wildly pulsating vein on Bellatrix's forehead seemed to be close to a rupture.

"Lies!" she seethed, breathing hard. "I am the Dark Lord! Shall I prove it to you again?-!"

"No – please, No!"

"Crucio!"

Harry's anger surged up with every step he took. He felt colder, stronger, more focused and determined. He saw the Death Eaters step out of his way, shocked and terrified, scattering away from his path.

"You are a filthy traitor, Draco Malfoy, and you know what fate awaits those who betray the Dark Lord!" Bellatrix said nastily and lifted the wand for one last time.

"NO!"

Narcissa slipped from her husband's arms and sprang forward to protect her only child. Bellatrix grimaced at her, turning the wand in her direction.

Harry saw it all happening - he saw the cruel mouth move to voice the worst of all curses, making most of the Death Eaters take a frightened step back. He saw his friends in the background, all tethered and beaten, each of them having a Death Eater as a patrol. He saw his own body too, seemingly lifeless, as it lay in the front for everyone to see; he even saw tears running down Hermione's cheeks and Ron, who stood beside her, white, silent and broken. But it was Lucius Malfoy, who stole the spotlight: he leaped forward after his wife, trying to push her and his son out of the curse's path. His mouth was hanging open in a silent scream.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Harry's outcry came out rather convincingly. He put the right amount of Voldemort's anger into those words and the effect was instantaneous.

Hearing his voice, all the Death Eaters gasped as one man.

Bellatrix froze: the curse remained unspoken on her lips and Harry relished in her expression of absolute shock and disbelief.

Knowing that everyone's attention was on him now, Harry walked up the statue's wide pedestal and turned to face the Death Eaters, spreading his arms wide.

"What a lovely party that you have here!" he said in a rich voice.

Overplaying it a bit, Harry let the corners of his mouth sink dramatically.

"So … how come I was not invited?" he hissed, his voice dropping to his usual iciness, " ...Bellatrix?"

He turned to her, glaring daggers at her.

"Or shall I say … Tom?"

It was almost disappointing to see how quickly she managed to pull herself back together. Her astounded expression fluently melted into a calculating one.

"I have a better question," she countered easily. "Who is this new impostor daring to bask in my glory?-!"

It happened faster than Harry expected. The Elder Wand swished through the air and the two deadly words were spoken. It had to be Voldemort's instincts that took over Harry because the next moment he was watching the scene from a different angle, seeing the green light scatter against the statue while Bellatrix screamed furiously.

It was beyond Harry's understanding how he managed to get out of its path so fast. Concurrently, he could not explain his hand moving without him guiding it.

A narrow, bright flame shot out of the tip of his yew wand, spreading wider and wider until it engulfed Bellatrix's whole body. It almost looked like Fiendfyre, but it did not spread uncontrollably as the cursed fire would do.

It remained focused on the target and for a few moments Harry only heard her screams over the fiery curtain. Suddenly, she disappeared in a thick veil of mist...

"Crucio!"

_Behind you!_

Harry fell face forward on the floor, feeling the curse whistling right above him. He rolled to his back fast, casting a Leg-Locker Curse before she could get a better aim at him.

Once again Harry caught her off guard. There was hardly any curse more basic than this one and she did not predict him using it. She stumbled and fell and although she was back on her feet a second later, Harry was on the move again.

"Who are you?-!" she screamed at him, deflecting Harry's Disarming Charm.

"Who am I? Why don't you come closer and have a look!" Harry retorted. "Maybe you'll find my face somewhat familiar, _Tom Riddle!_ "

A wicked gleam flickered in Bellatrix's black eyes as she sent another Killing curse at Harry, who barely escaped it this time. It was much harder to stay focused now that Voldemort's fury was leaking into his mind.

"So you want to kill me, do you? Are you even aware of the dire consequences you'd have to face after that?" Harry snarled at her, venting some of that anger.

For the first time, Bellatrix hesitated a little.

"Tell me, do you really think this is a Polyjuice Potion?" Harry continued, pointing at himself.

He took a step forward, feeling her inquisitive stare.

"You know that it is not, don't you? Look, as much as it pains me to say it, the primary reason for my being here is not to kill you, Riddle," Harry said. "I am here to show you what exactly you're doing to yourself!"

Realization dawned upon Bellatrix's face, which twisted with malice then.

"Potter!" she spat out the word that made the audience yelp in unison.

_"Harry?-!"_

_"He is not dead?_ "

_"This is not possible!"_

_"Could you believe it? Harry is possessing You-Know-Who!"_

Harry heard his friends' excited chatter, but he could not risk sparing a look at them. All his attention belonged to the mad, black eyes that traced his every little movement.

"You dared-," Bellatrix faltered, her breast heaving wildly. "YOU DARED TO STEAL MY OWN BODY, POTTER?"

"Yes, I dared, because you no longer seemed to be interested in it!"

She screeched in rage and whirled the Elder Wand around herself, speaking words that Harry did not understand and then there was a wave of purple, toxic light rushing towards him and for the first time Harry dreaded the impact. Voldemort's body responded again, conjuring up some kind of translucent shield that drained his strength enormously. It was like trying to stand still against the full power of a hurricane. The impact was brutal, Harry felt its aftershocks vibrate in all his bones and yet, the shield withstood it - the light could not penetrate it and slid harmlessly over its surface, discharging into the ground.

"NO!" Bellatrix shrieked, her wand-arm shaking with agitation. "I invented this spell! There is no blocking it, Potter!"

Harry tried to keep his face impassive despite wanting to relieve the pain he felt.

"Obviously, you know one way of blocking it," he said stiffly. "Has it crossed your brilliant mind, Riddle, that I may actually have an equally powerful ally on my side?"

Bellatrix shook her head viciously; anger and fear reflecting in her hateful eyes.

"No! You _can't_ have. I would never … _never_..."

"Harm yourself? Or try to kill yourself? I believe you attempted both already … and quite systematically, in fact."

Harry lowered his wand a tiny bit, faking calmness he did not feel.

"I've come to learn a number of important things about you, Tom. Want to hear some before you try to kill me again?"

Riddle did not strike and Harry knew he managed to plant a seed of doubt into his aberrant mind.

"If you think you could win by using such low tricks, Potter, you are sadly mistaken!" he hissed at last in Bellatrix's poisonous voice.

"No," Harry shook his head, "No tricks. This is not even about me, Riddle! This is about you and you only! Look at this body," Harry said urgently, indicating towards his chest. "This is NOT a Horcrux. It's never been a Horcrux so you can't use it as one! It cannot live out of thin air! It has, in fact, quite demanding existential needs! And yet you locked it up in some stuffy chamber and threw away the keys, thinking it would exist there forever! But you got it WRONG! It would DIE there within a few days, regardless of your wishes or expectations! Magic won't bend to your rules, Riddle, simply because some rules cannot be bent or broken! You pushed the boundaries of the Dark Arts too far and I'm telling you - stop it right now before it destroys you completely!"

Bellatrix stared at him, incredulous about Harry's sudden outburst and probably wondering whether she was more insulted or taken aback. Unfortunately, just a moment later, Harry could see Riddle's irritation winning over in her eyes.

She raised the wand again, smiling dangerously.

"And why should I believe a single word of what you're saying, Potter? Since when you're such an expert in the Dark Arts?"

"Perhaps I can see things in your mind that you refuse to see," Harry said quietly.

Slowly, with a great denial, he extended his arm towards her.

"I made a promise … and this is as far as I can go. Come back," he said in a much softer voice, suppressing his distaste for it was Bellatrix (by sight) that he was talking to.

"This body needs you. It cannot live without you. It's as simple as that. You need to stop this insanity now."

Bellatrix took a long quivering breath. Her head fell backward and then she started laughing. It was the single most frightening thing Harry had ever witnessed. It was a crazy sound, bitter and sour, scraping at Harry's nerves, leaving them all bare and aching.

"It's you who don't get it at all, Potter," she said at last. "Coming back? Into that body? Can you imagine, silly boy, what would happen to me then? Or do you really think that I would willingly let the old man lock me back into that horrible thing where I would have to spend the eternity? I'd rather die, Potter. I'D RATHER DIE!"

Somehow Harry knew that it would come to this at some point. He wondered what would Dumbledore think about Voldemort learning his lesson at last.

Would he be surprised?

Would he think it was too late?

Or would he consider it a mere pretence?

People could change, though. Harry knew that as he watched from the corner of his eye how Lucius was secretly leading his family to safety.

All they needed was a proper motivation.

"I'm sure there is another way," Harry finally said in a quiet voice.

"Oh, so you are sure now – how amusing! But you know what, Potter? I don't really care about what you've got to say. And with that little problem solved … I think I have a fair proposition for you."

A wicked smirk wiped the angry lines from Bellatrix's face.

"Leave that body now and I am ready to let you and all of your beloved friends walk away from here unharmed. If you refuse, though, I will defeat you as I defeated him before and then I'll make you watch all your friends die one after another. So, what do you say, Potter?"

Harry's insides turned icy cold.

So that was how Riddle wanted to play the game. He was trying to break the connection, the unique trust Harry managed to build between himself and conquered Lord Voldemort.

And the Dark Lord was handling this pretty badly – Harry could feel that he expected to be betrayed any second, he expected to be handed over to that Horcrux as an acceptable sacrifice for the lives of Harry's dearest people. He felt his rage and despair … and his acrimony about being unimportant to anyone...

Slowly, Harry was losing the control over that body again...

Surely no one could resist that offer. And that sly, manipulative Tom Riddle, who was staring at Harry from behind Bellatrix's eyes knew that very well.

"I am ready to swear it. So, what do you say?" Bellatrix said in her sweetest voice and Harry could see his friends staring at him, disbelieving, uncomprehending that he hesitated for so long.

Harry gritted his teeth.

It was his morals that were put to the test now.

If he could betray this one precious person who relied upon him now, how many of his friends would he be able to betray in the future?

Five?

Fifty?

Everyone?

Harry did not want to walk that path. And though he probably would not have a chance to explain that to Ron and Hermione and everyone else he cared about so deeply, he had to accept this as a price he had to pay for his decision.

Breathing slowly, Harry relaxed his clenched jaws.

"No," he whispered at last, feeling an incredible wave of heat rushing through his chest.

Lord Voldemort was ecstatic. He was completely smitten by that feeling. Harry could tell that for the first time in his life he felt so … _loved_. No one had ever sacrificed anything for him before.

"I made a promise and I refuse to break it," Harry spoke in a stronger voice. "This is going to end now and even if it ends with my death, I won't regret anything."

Bellatrix's smile slowly vanished from her face.

"Is that so?" she said at last, flipping the Elder Wand in her hand. "We shall see about that, Harry Potter. We shall see about that right now!"


	25. Mirrored

xxxxx

He did it for nothing.

It was heartbreaking.

Harry risked his friendship with people who loved him, he deserted Dumbledore's plan and shattered everyone's hopes … for nothing.

There was no cure for Tom Marvolo Riddle's ultimate self-hatred, the true source of his madness and the only emotion stronger than his fear of death. The Horcrux had proven it to Harry twice already: he did not hesitate to send the Killing Curse at himself (which, as Harry remembered from before, Lord Voldemort refused to do) and he told Harry that he'd rather die than suffer his previous state all over again.

From that perspective, the outcome was clear. Harry would encounter Tom Riddle in a duel just as it was prophesied.

_Neither can live while the other survives..._

It was disturbing how fitting the Prophecy proved to be in the end.

"If you kill this body," Harry broke the silence in a quiet voice, "you'll die."

"And what makes you think so, Potter?" Bellatrix smiled dangerously.

"You've got no Horcrux left," Harry said firmly.

"Oh, really?"

Her voice was soft like silk and honey. With a slight tilt of her head, she made a gesture towards Harry's unconscious body that lay forgotten on the floor.

"And here I thought that I've got one more - over there," she smirked malevolently. "If you want to stop me, Potter, you know what to do. Kill it. Kill yourself. I may even cheer you on."

Grinning, she pressed a tip of her tongue to her upper lip and took a step closer to Harry, who maintained a stony silence.

"Do you understand, now? You cannot win, boy. I have Lord Voldemort's memories. No secret of yours is safe from me."

Harry clutched the yew wand so tightly that his knuckles nearly broke through his paper-thin skin.

"What makes you think Voldemort knew everything about me?" he said, holding his stance.

"I'm afraid you don't really get it, Potter. What I do or do not know about you is completely irrelevant," Bellatrix said dismissively. "Your powers cannot compare to mine. You may, perhaps, keep up with me for some time due to my bodily reflexes, but that's where it ends. I can smite you whenever I want and you won't be able to stop me. But before I do that, I think it is time for me to show you the true extent of my powers!"

She cast a vicious glance over her shoulder and commanded her troops.

_"Kill."_

The Death Eaters that stood patrol to the captured members of the Order moved at once under the effect of a powerful Imperius Curse. They wrapped fingers around their captives' necks and began tightening their grip.

Harry was struck mute at the sight of all his friends slowly being throttled to death before his eyes.

"Stop them," Bellatrix taunted him cruelly. "I want to see you defeat all of my Death Eaters at once!"

Harry knew he could not do it. He could not disarm every single wizard in the Atrium. He could not fight them all.

His friends, Ron, Hermione and the others, were dying and he powerless to save them.

He chose him – he chose Voldemort and for his choice he remained alone. For his choice, the people he loved were going to die.

Tears were dripping down Hermione's nose … and Ron's bluish lips whispered his name...

And something broke inside Harry.

He gave out an ear-shattering scream, something only Voldemort's lungs could produce and cast the first Unforgivable Curse that crossed his mind.

_Something broke inside him..._

An icy wave rose up his chest, drowning his mind in a tidal pool of memories.

_...and he saw his father collapse onto the marble floor, his dark eyes opened, unseeing._

_Something broke inside him..._

_...as he pulled out the ring from his pocket and locked a part of his soul inside it._

_Something broke inside him..._

_...as he spat on his father's corpse and laughed._

_That was the revenge of the one unworthy of being loved._

_..._

_And then he stood in the graveyard and watched that young, bespectacled boy prophesied to be his demise. For some reason, he needed to explain to him why he hated him so much... ___

_"My father abandoned my mother when she told him what she was… He didn't like magic, my father…," he told him._

_He didn't like **me** , my father, he meant to say._

_Their dislike was short, mutual and intense._

_But why … why this little brat, so feeble and helpless, had parents who readily laid their lives for him, when he, the great Lord Voldemort, had no one?_

_The answer seemed so simple..._

_There is not such a thing called love and the boy needed to understand it before he died._

_Love, in its true meaning, was just an excuse for fools and pathetic weaklings who hovered in empty, meaningless emotions._

_But there was hatred, strong and powerful, that gave rise to Lord Voldemort, a wizard so mighty and frightening, that no one could hurt him and defeat him..._

_He was unreachable, untouchable..._

_... no longer human, unworthy of anyone's affection..._

_Yet, the boy stood up for him tonight and defended him against all odds, against **himself** , knowing that he could not win..._

_...knowing that he could only lose everything..._

_Why would he do that, if there was not such a thing called ... love?_

_It tormented him to feel the boy's suffering, but it was a glorious pain too … something he would not mind to die of._

_The boy had a choice and he chose him._

_Harry cared about him._

_Harry cared._

_Cared..._

The green flash erased the 'Magic' word from the inscription on the statue, missing Bellatrix narrowly.

When she reappeared again, her face was more serious than Harry had ever seen.

"I knew I could crack you, Potter...," she said coldly, pointing the Elder Wand at him.

"Yes," Harry said, shaking off the memories that still flooded his mind. "You did. But not just me."

With that said, Harry hid the yew wand back in his robes, showing her his pale, empty palms.

"The question is, does it make you a winner, Tom? I don't think so..."

"What are you doing?" Bellatrix said suspiciously. "You won't fight me anymore? You'll just let your friends die?"

"No," Harry shook his head before boring his eyes into hers. "You made me realize something. You won't kill my friends, Tom … because you can't."

"What nonsense is that?! I'll show you right now how easily-"

"One wise man told me once that there is a room in the Department of Mysteries," Harry interrupted her, "that contains a force more wonderful and more terrible than death, than forces of nature, even than magic. It is the most mysterious subject for the study of all. Do you know what room I am talking about?"

Bellatrix was silent, breathing fast.

"This room is kept locked all the time, but let me open it up a bit. You, of all people, deserve to see what's inside."

"What are you talking about?" she tried again.

But Harry no longer paid her attention. He turned his head at Ron, his first and best friend. And he remembered everything they shared since their first meeting at Hogwarts Express. Ron had saved him many times over – and not just that time when he was dying under that frozen lake; Ron was the light that guided him through the shadows, showing him why his life was worth living and laughing at. And then there was Hermione ... Harry's eyes turned to her and he remembered her standing by his side, even at the darkest times when everything seemed lost and hopeless. She was the person who had never given up on him and never turned her back on him...

Meeting her gaze again, Harry felt a fire ignite in his heart, burning brighter and brighter.

And then there was Ginny … and he looked her, the brave, beautiful girl he once thought he could spend the rest of his life with. She had taken his hand when it was cold and empty and given him her strength when he had felt down … making his life wonderful for once.

The heat inside his heart was spreading like a Fiendfyre when he remembered the last person who had usurped the post she had occupied. There was only one man who had made him feel, no matter for how brief moment, even better than she had. It was that time when he had taken his cool, smooth face in his hands and kissed those pale, soft lips, that he had felt truly alive...

The blaze consumed him and there was nowhere Tom Riddle could hide from it because Harry was inside his body.

"Stop it!" Bellatrix shrieked, crouching as if in pain, pulling hair from her head by the dozens. Tom Riddle was caught in waves of Harry's pure love that kept crashing against the barrier of hatred he had built during his long and dreadful isolation.

Harry wanted to break it apart...

And he saw him losing concentration and self control...

The Death Eaters were suddenly free of the Imperious Curse, releasing Harry's friends in their confusion.

Relieved, Harry came closer to Bellatrix who sank to her knees, still holding her head in her hands.

"I could never hurt you, if you did not let me, Tom," Harry said in a pained voice. "Do you see it now? Can you see how much you hate yourself?"

"This is...," Bellatrix wheezed out, shaking all over as she rose heavily to her feet.

"This is NOT OVER!" she screeched and Disapparated before Harry's eyes.

"I am Lord Voldemort and I shall never lose!"

Harry turned his head after the voice, but it was too late.

He could only watch her kneel beside his unconscious body, pull a dagger out of her black sleeve and thrust it viciously into his belly.

Harry's mouth fell open, but he could not make any sound. It was his friends who broke the silence with desperate, frenzied cries.

And then the incredible pain hit him like a speeding train. He stumbled and fell to the ground, losing control over Voldemort's body completely. The surrounding world disappeared under a thick cover of darkness and soon enough there was nothing left but the agony that tore apart the link he shared with Voldemort. The pain heightened so much that Harry wished someone would just stab his heart instead.

And then the cold voice broke through the mist enveloping his senses and Harry opened his eyes, staring into Bellatrix's spiteful face over his stained spectacles.

He was back … back in his own body.

It was just as Snape told him: it did not matter who he possessed. He was still existentially dependent on his own physical form.

"This is what you get for messing with me, Potter," she said gleefully.

Harry gasped for breath and clutched his hands around the dagger that was still embedded in his abdomen. Wet, warm liquid was leaking between his fingers, spilling on the floor in a crimson torrent and it was only his friends' screams that kept him focused and gave him strength to continue fighting. With a great effort, he managed to turn his head towards Lord Voldemort's unconscious form lying about ten feet away from him.

Slowly, inch by inch he began edging in that direction. He heard Bellatrix's victorious speech to the Death Eaters, but her words held no importance to him. There was one more message he needed to convey before it was too late...

The monstrous pain slowly began to ebb away as he was running out of blood and Harry knew it could be moments before he lost consciousness and before his life was over.

"Tom," he breathed out, shifting himself closer towards the man on the floor.

"I know … we've been enemies … for a long time," he said, his words barely audible, "and I know that … we've tried to kill each other too many times..."

Harry pushed forward, extending his bloodied arm.

"But you are different than you think. You are … more human … than you believe to be … and you are … lovable … like everyone else. You must … fight it, Tom. Stop her..."

He could not make it to him. He could not touch him and there was no link through which he could share that feeling.

Unable to move any further, Harry sank helplessly to the floor and stared at the white, opened palm that lay there, unmoving and unfeeling.

"I … believe in you … Tom..."

Then, someone brutally moved him onto his back. Bellatrix was above him again, grasping his thick, black hair and gazing into his face.

"Still breathing, Potter?"

"Fuck … off," Harry forced out of his failing lungs. All he saw now when he looked at her was a nasty, shrivelled, hairy heart that escaped from its tiny casket, lusting only blood and gore.

He sucked more air into his lungs.

"I can die knowing … I had … the best of you."

Harry's eyes slid close. He could not keep them open any longer. His brain was still aware, yet he lacked strength to do anything else.

"You are so pathetic, Potter. Your death is inevitable and yet you're still at-"

There was an odd pause in Bellatrix's moment of triumph.

Even odder was her sharp gasp of breath that followed.

"No...," she muttered. "No … I don't believe this … NO!"

Harry's consciousness was unstoppably slipping away. He only heard the sounds of a scuffle and Bellatrix's high pitched cry before he fell straight into nothingness.

And then, it was hard to tell how much later it was, he felt hands, soft and warm, on his abdomen. He felt cold… In fact, he felt so cold that he believed there was no getting warm ever again. In that moment postponed in time and space, where the pain was gone, nothing existed beside that daunting chill.

Later on he also heard voices, blurred and incomprehensible. Harry could only read the basic emotions hidden behind them.

Fright...

Urgency...

More fright...

Someone lifted his head and made him drink a bitter-sweet liquid. It slid down his throat and pooled in his stomach and a moment later he felt unexpected heat spreading through his arms and legs, filling his heart with warmth so delightful that he wanted to melt in it.

"He needs to drink more of it."

The voices started to clear out, quiet and familiar, making him relax.

"Harry … please, Harry, don't be dead."

Ron? Oh, thank Merlin, it was Ron's voice.

"I think … I think I made it in time," a soft muttering made Harry's heart jump with joy.

Hermione!

"Yes. He will live."

Harry's heart paused in a mid-jump.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

All his friends were huddled around him in what seemed to be an obligatory distance from the man who knelt by his side. The pale hand lifted the wand from the place where Harry's abdomen was torn apart not so long ago and Harry's eyes ran up the length of that arm, until finally meeting the intent red gaze.

It did not correspond well with the empty expression on that gaunt face.

Harry wanted to speak to him and reassure himself that this was real, but he was still too weak.

"Give him the rest of the potion," Voldemort said, breaking the eye contact in order to look at Hermione.

Unnerved, she knelt by Harry's head and lifted it carefully, helping him drink that liquid again.

She also dropped the wand she held right at Harry's chest, making him choke on his medicine.

"Hermione," he coughed at last. "This is..."

"The Elder Wand," she squeaked out.

Harry shot his eyes at Voldemort, who got up quickly and walked away, not looking back.

"I don't want it," Hermione said in a frightened tone, adding to Harry's confusion. "He told me to use it in order to save you … and I did … but I don't want to have it in my hand anymore."

Harry could no longer see the Dark Lord over the horde of his friends that made a tight circle around him.

"He told you to use that?" Harry asked, but before Hermione could answer, Harry's field of vision was covered by a curtain of red hair.

"Harry," Ginny whispered and kissed him on a cheek. "I am so sorry... Forgive me, please."

Harry was so surprised that he did not know what to say.

Fred and George decided to use the embarrassed silence instead.

"Wow, he really survived it. Even Ginny's smooch. Harry you're _tough_ ," they said in unison somewhere above him.

Distracted, Harry looked back at Ginny's sad face.

"Don't worry about it, Ginny. Just let me talk to Herm..."

"Ginny, step aside. We need to take Harry to the hospital immediately," Kingley's voice boomed over the growing clamour.

"Wait!" Harry said, feeling his strength return to him minute by minute. "I need to know what happened."

Instinctively, Harry searched out Ron's face.

"Well," Ron mumbled, scratching his nape, "It's really hard to tell, Harry. Bellatrix suffered some kind of a seizure after You-Know-Who regained his senses. But don't ask me why he started rescuing you afterwards. Even the Death Eaters appeared to be shocked by that. Well, they still are, in my opinion," Ron muttered and raised his head.

"Honestly, we first thought he just wanted to finish you off," Lupin said in a quiet tone. "But instead, he asked Hermione to take the Elder Wand and fetch him Blood-Replenishing Potion."

Harry rubbed his temples, trying to make a picture of the events he missed in his head.

"I need to talk to him," he said at last, scrambling to his feet - and sinking down again.

"Harry, there are still too many Death Eaters around and You-Know-Who can change his mind any time. I suggest we leave now," Kingsley insisted.

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I agree. You go. All of you. Take the Elder Wand, I don't need it. But I'm staying. I need to talk to him."

"Harry, this is a really bad idea. You realize that, right?" Tonks said urgently.

"Besides," Kingsley added as Ron and Fred helped Harry to his feet. "You're barely able to walk by yourself."

"I'm fine," Harry held his own. "Please, do me a favour and trust me in this."

His friends remained unconvinced and so he decided to play his ace.

"Look, he just saved my life. He saved me, right? Is it so surprising that I need to know what's going on? I need to talk to him."

"I'll stay with you," Ginny said immediately.

"No, Ginny, please. I must do it alone."

"We're not going to leave you with him again, Harry," Ron huffed under his breath.

"Take this, at least," Hermione said, placing the Elder Wand in Harry's hand.

"I told you that I don't-"

_"Please!"_

"All right, then ... thanks."

Harry seized the offered wand and turned away from his distressed friends, searching for Voldemort. His eyes first fell on Bellatrix who lay curled on the floor not far from the place where the frightening pool of his own blood started to dry out. He approached her, fighting his distaste, and listened to the sounds she made. It was hard to tell whether she was laughing or crying but the muttered words made no sense at all.

Harry raised his head then, taking in the whole Atrium. The Death Eaters retreated from the pedestal, but Voldemort was not among them. He stood in front of that hideous statue, his eyes fixed to it as he ignored everyone and everything around.

Shuffling towards him, Harry wondered what he should say.

However, before Harry could solve his problem, the fireplaces around the walls flared up with green flames and at the same time wizards and witches began Apparating everywhere in the Atrium. It took Harry only a second to realize what was going on.

It was the reinforcement he ordered Draco to alert. It meant that the youngest Malfoy managed to pass the message before he was captured.

Yet, Harry was far from celebrating this turn of events; instead, he wished he could stop the growing battle since Voldemort, obviously, had no interest in it. That changed the moment one curse missed him closely, demolishing another part of the statue. The Dark Lord tore his eyes off it at last and glanced round the fighting crowd.

Up to that moment Harry did not know what really happened to him; he did not know what he was holding inside.

Until Voldemort let it all out.

His rage was terrible, knocking down those who foolishly chose to come too close to him since his magic escaped uncontrollably with every wave of his wand. In one second every pair of eyes searched him out fearfully and in the next everyone was galloping towards the fireplaces and exits _together_ , nicely united in their impetuous stampede.

Harry felt oddly unaffected by the Dark Lord's fury. He remained standing where he was, calm and serene, in the storm that rampaged around him.

It was only when the last escapee disappeared behind the closest corner clumsily, that the silence returned to the Atrium.

Harry relished in it for a while.

Then he looked over his shoulder at his friends who were standing behind the golden gates, gesturing at him to come back fast. He shook his head a little and, after a brief hesitation, he approached Voldemort, gently placing his palm on that bony shoulder. He already knew what to say.

"Thank you."

_... for standing up to your Horcrux._

_...for saving my life._

_...for stopping this needless bloodshed._

Voldemort visibly stiffened under his touch, but did not jerk away.

"Don't," he said warningly, still staring ahead.

"I won't take it back."

When Voldemort did not respond, Harry gathered his courage for the next question.

"Are you all right?"

His companion made a gurgling sound of a suppressed laughter and turned his shining, scarlet eyes at Harry, his lips curling into a bitter, mirthless grin.

"Are _you_?"

"No, not really," Harry admitted openly for once.

Voldemort looked away and released the breath he was holding.

"Go back to your friends, Potter."

Harry pretended that he did not hear that.

"What happened to her?" he asked instead, pointing at Bellatrix, who still appeared to be _non compos mentis_. "Is he … I mean … is the Horcrux dead?"

He hated to ask that question, knowing how hard it had to be for Voldemort, but he also needed to know the truth.

"No," Voldemort replied in a flat voice.

"But, then-!"

"Be quiet, Potter," the Dark Lord hissed, his strange red eyes searching out Harry's face again. "Just be quiet. Me saving your life wasn't enough for you?"

The imaginary shard of ice that was wedged in Harry's throat melted away a little. He nodded and took a deep breath.

"And my friends?" he asked.

"They may leave too."

Leave... No. The last thing Harry wanted was to leave him.

"Come with me," he said, driven by a sudden impulse that sprang from nowhere. He just wanted to be with him alone, away from everyone and everything. They had so many things to discuss and Harry yearned for some privacy.

Voldemort, however, did not share the same desire; he looked at him as if he were insane and then he tugged himself free of Harry's clutch.

"I shall act as if I did not hear that," he hissed, making Harry involuntarily bite his tongue.

"Besides, what would your friends think of you if they saw you willingly leave this place with me?"

"I don't know," Harry said truthfully. "But I don't want to lie to them."

"And yet you can't live without them."

"Perhaps, but I can keep a secret," Harry whispered, cold premonition suddenly washing over him. "You know that I can."

"That changes nothing, Potter. It's over. _Over_. Go back to them," Voldemort said coldly.

"Damn you! Why are you doing this to me? I know that you don't want to end it here either!" Harry snapped, curling his hands into fists.

But Voldemort extended his long arm, pointing his finger at Ginny, who was evidently trying to approach them unseen.

"She still loves you. That's why she came here. That's why she nearly died tonight."

"Tom..."

"I can never give you that."

Harry gritted his teeth before speaking under his breath.

"That's a _lie_. Ginny is a great girl, but I want to be with you. Look, I know I made some serious mistakes and I'm sorry for them, but I need you to let me prove it. I gave you a second chance once. Why can't you do the same for me?"

By the corner of his eye Harry detected another disturbing movement. He realized that Minerva McGonagall, professor Flitwick and several Aurors came back and now they were giving spare wands to the previously captured members of the Order. Harry knew he was out of time once again.

"Potter... Well, if you want to be with me that much," Voldemort said coldly, "you can surely name at least one thing I did right in our … _relationship_."

Harry, taken aback by that sudden inquiry, said the first thing he could think of.

"You just saved my life."

"Oh! What an amazing _achievement_ , boy … since it was also I who nearly killed you."

There was a biting, derisive undertone in his voice; it became painfully obvious to Harry that Voldemort did not want him back.

He wished he knew what to do ... how to cope with it...

The members of the Order, now fully armed, were coming closer - and Harry's heart was bleeding once again. He refused to give up yet, but there was hardly anything left to fight for.

"Look, I don't care," he said, faking determination. "I can handle the difficulties … I _want to_ handle them."

But Voldemort took a dismissive step from him.

"Don't do this," Harry whispered. "You are … hurting me."

"Of course I am. I only know how to hurt you and how to break you."

"No," Harry said and took a step forward as Voldemort retreated again. "You don't understand how I … how I feel about you," he breathed out tortuously.

Voldemort shook his head, his body rigid like a statue.

"Even if I did, Potter, this is my final decision," he said at last.

Harry closed his eyes, broken. Indeed, there was nothing left to fight for. He may have won the battle, but he lost the war.

Outwardly, he only nodded mechanically.

"Sure," he said at last. "If this is your decision, I won't be stopping you."

Voldemort hesitated; apparently, he did not want to show any insecurity and yet, in that brief moment, he did. It could change nothing about his resolution though, and Harry knew that.

"I won't forget."

It was a goodbye. He would not be seeing him again.

The last thing Harry could do was to take it like a man.

"Neither will I," he said and then, perhaps to end his turmoil, the Dark Lord Disapparated.

Harry swore not to cry.

xxxxx

_Fourteen months later_

xxxxx

"This is outrageous!" Hermione said indignantly as she burst into a sitting room and came to stand in front of Harry James Potter with her arms crossed. Harry shifted in his chair and raised his eyes from an opened Advanced Transfiguration textbook.

"What is it, Hermione?"

"Have you heard the news?" Hermione snapped in a tone that restricted a negative answer.

"It depends...," Harry said slowly. "I don't read the Daily Prophet anymore, so if it is another Rita Skeeter's article about my private life again, I don't really care."

"No, not that one! I meant the news about Neville!"

Harry closed the book, put it on the table and leaned against the backrest.

"I'm all ears."

"Harry, Bellatrix was moved from Azkaban into the same ward at Mungo's as Neville's parents! Would you believe it?"

"Oh … yes, that one. Well, she is completely insane, I'm afraid," Harry said carefully.

"So you _do_ know about it?"

"What's your point, Hermione?"

"Neville, Harry. It's Neville! If he is going to meet her there-!"

"She's going to be held separately from the other patients. Kingsley assured me that the risks are minimal."

Losing some steam, Hermione came to sit on a sofa opposite to Harry.

"Fine. Is there any valid reason why she shouldn't be in Azkaban?"

"Not at all," Harry sighed. "But that's just my personal opinion. The Auror office disagrees with me. Actually, they say that their inspection indicated that her mental illness could be curable and therefore she could be a vital source of information … about Voldemort," he said, meeting Hermione's questioning gaze. "Nonsense, if you ask me. She cannot be cured the same way Voldemort cannot be found."

She budged up in discomfort.

"Does it mean that the Aurors are not familiar with your theory about what had happened to You-Know-Who, then?"

"They don't really care about it, Hermione. And I told you that it's not just a theory. It's a fact. Bellatrix was the one carrying the biggest part of Voldemort's consciousness when his soul merged together. That's why she's suffering from the psychical consequences."

Hermione's eyes ran up to Harry's scar and he touched it involuntarily.

"I told you that it's gone," he said, rubbing it. "No one knows this better than I do."

"I believe you, of course," she said softly. "It's just ... hard to believe that anyone could..."

"Survive it?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"I-," Harry paused, searching for the right word. "Agree," he said, picking the book again.

"What do you think he's up to now?"

"Who?"

_"You-Know-Who."_

"I don't want to talk about him."

"You never do, Harry. Not even now when the Ministry issued a warning that he could be back in England."

"And why should I care? He's not killing anyone or trying to take over the Ministry like the last time. I see no reason to discuss him."

"But he saved your life. And we still don't know why..."

"Forget it, Hermione."

"Harry..."

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked instead, dismissing the topic. "I thought you'd be coming back together."

Hermione was unwilling to let it slide just like that, but Harry also knew she did not want to push him too far.

"He promised me to check a few more houses available for sale," she said then, tying her bushy hair into a tight knot. "You know that I don't want to go back and live under his mother's watchful eye again. Besides, we can afford it now that he's going to get a job as well."

"Hermione … you know this is not necessary. I told you many times over that you can live here with me at Grimmaulds place as long as you want. I have absolutely no problem with that."

"Thank you Harry," Hermione smiled at him. "You're kind, but, you know, we would like to have a place we could call our home, if you understand me."

Harry nodded stiffly.

Seeing the bad turn in Harry's mood, Hermione tried to remedy her mistake.

"Besides, you're going to have an 'official' girlfriend soon, right? You would not appreciate us walking on you two all the time."

"What?" Harry asked flatly.

"Well, I thought you're going on a _special_ date tonight," she winked at him.

"Oh … yes. That's right," Harry muttered, opening the textbook quickly again.

"With a lovely girl named ... Claire?"

"Yes, Claire," Harry nodded, flipping the pages fast.

"You don't seem to be very excited about it," Hermione said doubtfully.

Harry ceased demolishing the book and dropped it back onto the table before sighing heavily.

"I _am_ excited. Trust me, I really am. She's the first girl in ages who doesn't want my name tattooed all over her privates. It's so refreshing to be with someone who is not fainting all over you every five minutes. And do you know what's the best part? All the previous girls really thought that I _defeated_ Voldemort. That I _scared_ him away. They were driving me crazy! Luckily, Claire is different. She does not care about these things."

"Because she is a Muggle," Hermione said with a smile.

"So what?" Harry snapped.

"Nothing!" Hermione said quickly, raising her hands in surrender. "I don't care what rubbish Rita writes about you two. I am happy that you're dating a Muggle nearly as much as Ron's dad."

"Arthur would be much happier if I did not break up with Ginny for the second time."

"He understands your decision, Harry. Besides, you and Ginny are still good friends."

"Because we finally realized that we are not meant for each other. Yet, I can't help but blame myself for that, Hermione. I was not giving it all. Ginny deserves better than that."

"Well, who knows what or who awaits you in the future? Claire could be the one," Hermione said encouragingly.

Harry looked out of the window, bemused.

"Who knows...," he whispered, but then he smiled back, chasing away the shadow from his face. "I want to believe it."

xxxxx

It was simply a beautiful evening. There was a warm breeze coming from a lake that glittered like a huge diamond in the evening sunlight.

Harry strolled along a waterside promenade, bathing in that lovely shine and perceiving the beauty that surrounded him through every pore of his being. He really chose a perfect place for a romantic date.

Claire would be enchanted for sure...

She was five minutes late, but Harry did not fret about it. It was a part of every girl's charm to let the guy wait for her every now and then, he supposed.

He was just making final adjustments to his visage, when a sudden voice intruded his musings.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry turned around, coming face to face with a plump blond man wearing a flowery shirt and a ridiculously thick and shapeless glasses. Harry's own speckles looked like a fashion hit in comparison.

Scrutinizing him from head to toe, Harry noticed a digital camera and a cup of ice cream in his hands. A Muggle then, but how come he knew his name?

Harry just opened his mouth to say something when the man asked again.

"You are Mr. Potter, right?"

He seemed insecure now, doubtful even.

Suspicious, Harry looked around for one last time and finally gave a jerky nod. He could not get rid of a feeling that someone else was watching him from afar – which was perfectly possible with dozens of Muggles walking down the promenade at the moment.

"Perfect!" the man beamed at him happily. "I have something for you."

Harry blinked in surprise.

"You've got something for … _me_?" he said in disbelief.

"Yes! That guy over there is sending you this."

A second later, Harry had the cup of ice cream in his hand.

_"What?"_

The Muggle seemed confused by Harry's confusion. Unsure what to say or do, he gave Harry one last insecure smile and walked away, shaking his head.

Harry stared after him and then he looked at the quickly melting treat as if it was a transfigured enemy ready to destroy him.

"Did he really say a _guy_?" he muttered to himself, eyeing the suspicious gift and wondering who else beside his friends knew that chocolate and vanilla were his favourite flavours.

Probably Rita Skeeter - which meant the rest of the Wizarding world.

He looked tensely in a direction the Muggle pointed at, but there was no one standing there.

Perhaps he was just becoming overly paranoid...

"Good afternoon, Harry."

Harry dropped the cup. The ice cream splattered on the ground with a loud smack.

Misery and pain were back that instant, flooding him in a torrent just with the sound of that voice.

Harry was ready to deal with anyone and anything … but him.

_Not him._

At first, he refused to turn around and acknowledge the person who greeted him. The passing seconds of ringing silence were eating on his nerves, but he fought them valiantly. He would resist it even longer, were it not for his fervent curiosity that overruled his determination. A single glance sideways revealed a black figure standing in a corner of his vision.

Harry closed his eyes tightly, counting to ten.

He made it only to six.

"What do you want?" he snarled through gritted teeth.

"There is something I want to discuss with you, Potter," came a chilly reply that trampled Harry's should-be healed heart.

Gathering his Gryffindor courage, Harry decided to face him.

And he took a step back, when he did.

Well, this was Lord Voldemort. He even looked like Lord Voldemort, if Harry was willing to imagine some flesh on the Dark Lord's bony visage. Not much, but definitely some healthy amount.

His skin was perfect as always, pearly-white and perhaps even more radiant than usual, if possible. Harry wanted to break his fingers for tingling with desire to touch it.

But it was Voldemort's eyes that eventually won Harry's attention. They glittered like two rare jewels in the sun - and Harry was, against his will, momentarily mesmerized.

"You look … healthy," he heard himself mutter. He was glad he managed to catch the word _gorgeous_ before it spilled from his lips and caused an irreversible damage.

"I owe it to your healthy appetite, Harry," Voldemort said pleasantly, satisfied with Harry's reaction to his appearance. The scarlet eyes reluctantly left Harry's face and turned to the mess by Harry's feet.

"You didn't like my little gift?" he said silkily. "What a pity."

When Harry did not answer, Voldemort leaned against a handrail bordering the walkway and looked at the glorious lake spreading towards the horizon. He seemed to be enjoying the fact that Harry still stood there, rooted to the spot.

Harry was, understandably, too perplexed to properly respond.

Voldemort was making small talk with him. Voldemort was back … he was here of all the places. He was even _flirting_ with him, for the lack of better words, here, on Harry's date with Claire, to be specific!

Claire...

Harry froze for a second.

Damn, she was supposed to meet him minutes ago...

Sucking in a loud breath, Harry tried to suppress a flutter of fear in his chest.

"Look," he said urgently, "I don't want to be rude or anything, but I'm kind of waiting here for someone else. I would really appreciate if you left me alone."

Voldemort's sharp, cat-like eyes bore into Harry's.

"You _were_ ," he corrected him.

"What?"

"You were waiting for someone else, Potter. That filthy Muggle missed her bus."

Harry's head was ready to explode.

"If you did _anything_ to her-!" he bellowed.

"I said," Voldemort lowered his voice into a vicious hiss, "that she _missed her bus_."

Harry rammed his hands into his pockets.

"What a fucking coincidence! And how come you even know about it? You won't tell me that, right? Come on, Riddle, just be honest with me! If you have come here just to spoil my date-!"

"Don't be so conceited, Potter."

Harry forced himself to exhale.

"Fine," he said firmly. "Fine - speak then. You wanted to talk to me. I'm listening. I have loads of time on my hands now that my _girlfriend_ is not coming."

The Dark Lord's anger spread around like a poison, making Harry quite on the edge. He could see the wildly throbbing vein on the man's forehead and the viciously clenched muscles on his jaw. Harry took a quick side-glance at the unsuspecting people around and realized his mistake. This was not a good place to be testing the limits of Voldemort's self-control. But it was just too hard to act civil around him since he could crush his broken heart anytime again.

"I have decided to come here to tell you the true reason why I parted with you last year," Voldemort said coldly once he regained composure.

That was, however, the very last thing Harry wanted to hear. He saw no reason why he should let him pour more salt into a barely healed wound.

"I know why you dumped me," he said drily. "You made yourself perfectly clear last time. No need to worry, though. I am over it as you wanted me to be."

"I told you back there," Voldemort continued icily, ignoring Harry's remark, "that I could only hurt you and break you, if you stayed with me. That was a _lie_. I wanted to kill you."

Harry, in all honesty, did not expect that. He took a step back, eyeing Voldemort distrustfully.

"But- Why? It was you who saved my life. It was you who fought and defeated your own Horcrux," he said, watching the other man intently.

Voldemort returned his gaze unblinkingly.

Harry instinctively pulled out the wand that was hidden deep in his back pocket.

"Is that the reason why you are here? Have you come to kill me at last?"

"No."

It was a resolute no, a determined one. It was a no that could only be said when there was no doubt left.

Harry lowered his wand a little, giving himself a moment to think. And the answer came to him almost instantly and left him speechless for a second.

It made a perfect sense now – how come he did not see that before?

"Oh, no," he groaned and gripped his raven-black hair, pulling at his scalp. "That's it, isn't it? _The Horcrux_. That's what it was all about since the very beginning! You told me that it was _not_ dead – and Merlin, I just did not see it through!

Harry took a faltering step back.

"He had to be raving," he muttered. "Of course that he … _you_ sought revenge."

"Yes," Voldemort finally spoke, relaxing a little. "Yes, I wanted you dead more than you can imagine. But I also wanted you alive just as much, if not more. It was maddening."

"I … see. Breaking up with me was the most sensible thing you could do," Harry said, fighting the overwhelming emotion that was stifling his breath, "but why didn't you tell me? Why did you leave me without any explanation?"

"Why didn't I tell you that I wanted you dead?" Voldemort asked incredulously. "Potter, I would have most likely carried out the deed right after I put it into words. It was just too hard to restrain myself."

Harry squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"I was so … _angry_ with you. And I missed you. Badly. Damn, it was harder for me than I expected."

Voldemort gave him a nod and looked away, his hands gripping the handrail tightly.

"You must understand that I barely knew who I was at that time. I needed to start anew. But after those several painful weeks that I needed to sort things out and realize what I wanted from life, you were dating that Weasley girl again. I did not want to interfere and so I left Britain for some time."

"That was quite … considerate of you."

"I owe you a lot of consideration, Harry. That's also why … I am leaving this up to you."

Harry stared at him, uncomprehending. He could not possibly mean what Harry thought he meant - or could he?

"Unless it is too late already."

Oh, he did mean it.

_He did._

"I..."

Harry's throat went completely dry. He licked his lips with his suddenly parched tongue.

"I can't just … not like this. It's been months and months and I ... damn, I'm an Auror in training! This is crazy!"

"I am not asking for reasons why you can't be with me. We both know there's too many of them. I'm just asking if you want to," Voldemort said quietly and Harry groaned in defeat.

He knew what he wanted.

He knew it for a _long time_.

"Tom..."

"I missed the way you call me, Harry. I've never thought I could enjoy anyone saying my awful Muggle name."

It was too much for Harry to bear; he could not hold it inside for another moment with his sanity intact. He grasped Voldemort's collar and pulled him those few necessary inches down, running his palm over that amazingly smooth skin before taking his chin and tilting it into a perfect angle for a hungry kiss. Voldemort immediately tried to take over, but Harry did not let him. He waited for this too long, he lost too many hopes and made too many sacrifices. Besides, this was not about dominance or similar nonsense as Voldemort probably viewed it. This was about how he felt and he needed to show it.

"There is only one feeling that could conquer your hatred for me, Tom," Harry said quietly after he pulled away, staring into those deep, intense, red eyes.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Good … because I feel the same about you."

Voldemort said nothing this time; instead, he pressed his lips to Harry's again.

A few moments later his cool breath caressed Harry's smoothly shaved cheek.

"I think I just spotted a Muggle that I want to kill," he whispered.

"What Muggle?" Harry muttered, feeling a little brainwashed.

"Her."

Harry turned his head and noticed a young, lovely brunette weaving her way between couples, looking quite desperate.

"It's Claire!" he gasped out. "But I thought-!"

"She is quite persistent," Voldemort said matter-of-factly, looking at Harry from head to toe. "Not that I am surprised."

"I absolutely forbid you to hurt her!" Harry said resolutely. "We are leaving – come on!"

He seized Voldemort's hand and dragged him down the sunny walkway as fast as he could without actually breaking into a run, while attempting to hide his wand back in his pocket.

"I think we've lost her at last," he said a moment later, relieved.

"So it seems," the Dark Lord agreed, watching his struggle. "Is that by any chance your old holly wand?"

"Yes. I mended it months ago."

"Using the Elder Wand?"

Harry nodded, still hurrying alongside the occupied benches.

"I did not expect you to be so successful. It's nearly an impossible task."

Harry hesitated before looking over his shoulder at the Dark Lord.

"It was not that difficult."

"Wasn't it?" Voldemort slowed down a bit. "Shall I take it that you are the true master of the Elder Wand, then?"

Harry came to a full stop, letting go of his hand.

"I don't get it," Voldemort said. "I was certain it was Snape … and yet the wand did not work for me after I killed him."

"If I tell you the truth, will you change your mind about not killing me?" Harry asked firmly.

"That's hardly possible."

"Good, because Snape was not the true master of the Deathstick. It was Draco Malfoy, who disarmed Dumbledore at the Astronomical Tower. And I defeated him at Malfoy Manor."

"I see. And the Wand thinks that I've never defeated you."

"So do I. Does it bother you?"

"Not as much as I thought it would. Besides...," he added, running his fingertip under his chin. "...your kisses are better than possession of any wand in the world."

A huge smile split Harry's face.

"Oh, really?" he said and circled his arm around Voldemort's shoulders before giving him a taste of his prize.

"I've never said I won't steal it one day, though," the Dark Lord said smugly after Harry released him.

"I thought you did not want it since you left it there for me... Anyway, you may try," Harry teased him in return.

"May I? Well, well... You never cease to surprise me, Harry. Do you find it exciting? Does that danger and unpredictability turn you on?"

Harry smirked, before taking his hand again.

"You're the one to speak. Boredom literally drives you crazy."

Finally, they found a bit more secluded place providing some privacy.

"I think that's something we share, Harry," Voldemort said after he took a seat on a wooden bench in a shadow of an old oak tree.

Harry dropped his weight right beside him.

"We share quite a number of things, Tom. When you mentioned it, you've got my memories too, right?"

"Yes, some of them."

"It must be quite distracting."

"I am not complaining. It was the thoughts of you that kept me sane through the hardest times. Your memories, admittedly those concerning me, were like a safety rope that prevented me from falling further down and losing myself. You were like a distant lighthouse in a stormy sea. And now that I finally reached you, I feel I found the solid ground beneath my feet," he said, closing his eyes. "I feel at peace."

Harry gently rubbed his fingers, keeping them warm.

"So do I," he said, "Except..."

"Except what?"

"Oh, nothing. It's nothing serious, really."

"I'll make it serious, if you don't tell me."

Harry rolled his eyes, but then he smiled.

"Well, the thing that tormented me the most during the past fourteen months was, beside your absence, the fact that I've become a mere trophy to be collected. That's why I ended up dating Claire. She saw me as a man and not as a famous hero she could boast about before her friends. You see, after I broke up with Ginny, things really took a bad turn for me..."

"Ah," Voldemort said, his lips curling into a smile that was becoming a little feral. "Are you trying to tell me that your girls left you somewhat … _frustrated_?"

Harry returned the smirk.

"You could put it that way," he said.

"Excellent. I have a couple of ideas what I could do about it. My place or yours?"

"Wow," Harry said, feeling thoroughly bewildered. "You're not wasting time, are you?"

"I don't miss my chances," Voldemort affirmed.

"I am most certainly not complaining... My place is taken, though," Harry sighed. "I invited Ron and Hermione over for tonight."

The Dark Lord got up, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

"I would hate to compromise our privacy," he said. "Regardless of my suggesting it, the Death Eaters are currently occupying every single hideout I can think of in order to evade your _friends_ from the Auror office. You should seriously have a word with them about it. My patience is not endless."

"I do talk to the Aurors regularly. The problem is that they are often not listening."

"I am almost glad to hear that."

Harry came to stand behind Voldemort.

"Let's skip the politics for now, okay? We need to think of another place for tonight," he said and wrapped his arms around the other man's waist, laying his chin on Voldemort's shoulder. "What about..."

"No. Not a Muggle hotel again."

Harry sighed.

"In that case, it seems I have to stay frustrated for a little longer. It will be once again just about me, my hand and my fantasy."

"What fantasy?"

"Oh - a secret one."

"Harry..."

"No, don't ask. You wouldn't find it as exciting as I do."

"Tell me. I want to know it."

"Sure you do," Harry smiled, making himself comfortable against the other man's back.

"Does it involve me?" Voldemort asked pointedly, making Harry's smile grow wider.

"Of course it does."

"Are you teasing me on purpose, _Potter_?"

"What do you think?"

Harry removed one hand from Voldemort's waist and undid the belt securing his well-fitting jeans, pulling it out of the loops.

"What are you doing?" Voldemort asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Don't turn around."

Voldemort hissed something under his breath.

"Potter..."

"Harry. Call me Harry, Tom."

Carefully, Harry ran his hand down the latter's arm and circled his fingers around the Dark Lord's thin wrist, pulling it behind his back.

"What are you planning to do?"

"I need your other hand too."

At that point Voldemort forcefully tried to turn his front to Harry.

"Don't be afraid."

"I am _not_ , you insolent!"

"If you tell me to stop, I will. I don't want to upset you, Tom."

"Stop it, then!"

Harry paused his actions instantly.

"Okay," he said quietly. "I get it. You don't trust me enough."

"No!" Voldemort said quickly, turning around and taking Harry's face into his cool palm.

"No," he repeated, his voice softer than ever. "I know that you also … desire to control me. You must be patient, though. This is not something I am ready for - yet. But I _do_ trust you. You _saved_ me, Harry. You have no idea … how much you mean to me."

The Dark Lord bit his lower lip in a gesture that Harry identified as his own.

"Gah," he snarled, then. "Just don't make me say that again."

Gently, Harry laid his hand over Voldemort's, kissing the palm before smiling.

"Okay. Let's go," he said lightly. "I think I owe you a cup of delicious ice cream."

"Oh my," Tom Riddle smiled back, the first genuine smile Harry ever saw on his face. "Does it mean that you want me to get more practice in licking and sucking?"

"Say another word and I'll tie you to-"

"Dream on, boy."

"Did you just call me a boy? I am the master of the Elder Wand here!"

"Don't tempt _me_ , Harry."

"Well, I like it."

"That could hardly pass my notice."

"Do you think we'll make it all the way back to the ice cream shop?"

"Impossible."

"Let's go to the beach, then..."

"It will be crowded with Muggles."

"We can make them go away."

"Hmm, that sounds like an excellent plan, Harry..."

They walked down the promenade, hand in hand, leaving the sun to set behind them. The heavenly view was long forgotten; they did not need it anymore after finding their own paradise at last.


	26. Epilogue

xxxxx

The air was thick and crisp, lingering in his lungs like a viscous jelly and burning his throat as he breathed it fast, in and out. He stumbled a little on slippery cobblestones, but kept moving forward, his wand at ready in his numb, shaking hand. He coughed into his sleeve and rubbed his chest to ease his breathing.

_He could not be late. His whole world depended on him arriving here in time..._

The street was dark and desolate, adding to Harry's fear.

A thin veil of mist spread around, clouding his vision a bit. Harry halted, listening intently, his hand still clutching at his chest right above his promptly beating heart. Yet, there was nothing to be heard aside from soft, rustling sounds of falling leaves.

"Tom," Harry gasped out. "Please."

His breath rattled in his throat.

_"Please."_

Then, suddenly, something moved around Harry, the darkness becoming thicker and more compact before a shadowy figure stepped out of it, tall and graceful. The black robes swept the leaves away as the hand moved fast and caught Harry's chin in a firm grip.

"You're late."

The voice was high, cold and ill-tempered and yet Harry felt like fainting with relief.

"No, Tom," he sighed, licking his trembling lower lip. "For once I believe I'm not."

And then, before the other man could move away, Harry wrapped his arms around him and crushed him against his own chest.

"What in Salazar's name are you-?! Harr- OW!"

But Harry did not release him: instead, he claimed his mouth, muttering incoherently in those rare instances their eager lips tore apart.

"I was … so scared, Tom. So … afraid. Thank … Merlin … you're all right."

And then he buried his face in the crook of the Dark Lord's neck, breathing in the soothing, familiar smell of Dark Magic. Voldemort was still upset, he could feel it, but it was okay … everything was okay with him for this very moment.

A cold hand took a grip of his hair and pulled him away a bit.

"Now that you properly molested me, Potter, would you mind explaining yourself? And it'd better be something consequential, boy."

Oh, how much he loved him. Whenever he looked into his eyes, Harry felt like a swelling soap bubble – floating weightlessly, yet about to burst into millions of glittering droplets.

"Tom," Harry breathed out, stroking his strikingly white, protruding jawline with his thumb. "They … know," he said brokenly. "They figured it out. I've been worried sick that the Aurors would find you before I did. But it's all right now … it's all right … still, we have to leave England tonight, I'm afraid..."

Voldemort remained quiet for a while, watching Harry with his intense red eyes.

"I do not fear your friends, Harry," he said calmly then.

"It's not that!" Harry snapped, shaking his head resolutely. "Please, just listen to me! They _know_ , Tom! I cannot come back! My friends ... they … ah..."

Voldemort took a slow step back, deep in thought.

"How did they figure it out?" he asked then.

Harry fluttered his hands, exasperated.

"I don't know, but does it really matter? It was probably Ron, who saw us returning to Grimmauld Place together. I cannot think of anything else right now. Anyway, I was just sorting out my afternoon mail when I found this letter and I thought it was for me, but it wasn't. Ron was writing to Hermione, who planned to visit me this evening, but, apparently, the owl decided to bring the letter into my house in advance. Still, imagine my shock when I read the lines - Ron was warning her that you could be waiting there for her… Tom, no matter the precautions we took, _they already know that you're living with me_!"

"That is most unfortunate, indeed," Voldemort said softly, pulling out his wand. "...for them, of course."

"No," Harry gasped. "No, Tom, please, no. You must leave them out of this! I'm only afraid that they already warned the Aurors..."

"I refuse to leave my home because of some meddling Aurors, Harry," the Dark Lord interrupted him coldly. "I think it's time for us to enlighten them the situation a bit."

"Tom," Harry groaned, raking his fingers through his wild hair in frustration. "Don't do this to me. If you care the slightest bit about my feelings, don't do this."

The long, cool fingers wrapped themselves around Harry's wrist and jerked him closer.

"You've been showing me over and over how _unhealthy_ it is to live in a lie, Harry, and yet you're doing the very same thing to yourself. So, let me show you now how much I learned to care," Voldemort said resolutely and the world flipped around Harry fast.

Before Harry had time to properly recuperate or become familiar with his surroundings, Voldemort took a resolute step forward while baring his left forearm.

He pressed his finger against his Dark Mark and instantly the air was filled with sweeping black cloaks and resonated with cracks of Apparation.

"Oh, no," Harry moaned as he watched the quickly forming wide circle of wizards and witches around him. "I can't believe he really summoned them..."

More and more of wizards were coming and the crowd was becoming rather thick with the growing number of the Dark Lord's followers.

Harry heard their excited whisper and felt their curious stares, but he faced them without betraying his discomfort.

"Welcome, my Death Eaters. It's been a while since I called you the last time," Voldemort said pleasantly, pacing along the line they formed, "...leaving you hiding all over the country before the Ministry forces. Yet, I believe the time has come again for us to remind them of our presence."

"Oh, no," Harry muttered again, a thrill of fear running down his spine.

Voldemort looked at Harry briefly, but then he turned his head back as one of the Death Eaters stepped forward and sank to his knees, bowing subserviently.

"My Lord," he muttered with his head nearly touching the ground, "...may I ask, Master, does it mean that we will try to take over the Ministry again?"

Breathless and unnerved, Harry watched Voldemort come closer to his servant.

"No, Goyle," he said silkily, flourishing his hand. "That won't be necessary. We need to stop this useless, nonproductive war at last. I do not wish to spill another drop of magical blood. Although our main quest to preserve the blood purity is still extremely important, preserving the existence of the magical community in Britain is even more vital than that."

Voldemort retreated a few steps back, looking over his Death Eaters.

"I have come to the conclusion that if Muggle blood makes us incompetent, then those who regularly besmear our heritage shall be ruled out of our society for these natural reasons. There is no need for us to fight them and die because of them.

Also, if there is such a unique case when Muggle blood actually strengthens these magical abilities, I no longer see a valid reason why we should persecute these wizards and witches, especially when they proved their magical competence."

Harry's heart jumped into his throat with excitement after hearing his words. He could hardly believe what he was witnessing – Tom was actually _advocating_ on behalf of Muggle-borns before his Death Eaters! He really seemed to be willing to accept their rightful place in the wizarding society!

Harry had to hold himself from shooting his fist into the air and celebrating this aloud.

However, he was not the only one who had troubles believing Lord Voldemort's words. The Death Eaters muttered to themselves, shifting uncomfortably at their feet as if a mere thought of accepting Muggle-borns among themselves frustrated them to no end.

"You seem disappointed, my friends," Voldemort continued softly, his gleaming eyes darting from mask to mask. "I can sense your displeasure as if it were mine. What is it about my words that disturbs you so much?"

No one seemed to be daring enough to step forward and proclaim his aversion, Harry noticed.

"Perhaps you think," the Dark Lord continued, turning towards Harry, "that Harry Potter, who's been my dear companion for several past weeks, somehow influenced my mind and changed my unwavering views."

Now, Harry squirmed in discomfort at the number of probing gazes he received.

"And you would be quite right about it, for Harry Potter indeed opened my eyes and helped me accept the truth."

Harry's mortification reached a whole new level. He shuffled his feet, wishing he brought his Invisibility cloak along.

"Still, for those of you who remain doubtful, I've prepared a final evidence."

Harry raised his head, watching Voldemort conjure a pedestal and step up on it, so that everyone could see him properly in that soft moonlight coming through branches of distant trees.

"I, Lord Voldemort, must confess my Muggle heritage to you."

The Death Eaters appeared to be scalded by this news. Amazed, Harry watched the reactions that Voldemort's words induced. Most Death Eaters were shaking their heads, refusing to accept it, while others were just staring numbly as if their world just shattered apart.

"Yes, it is true. My father was a Muggle and my mother, a descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin was a poor half-Squib unable to even survive a childbirth."

Several Death Eaters sank to their knees and crawled over to Voldemort, begging to be told different.

"And yet," the Dark Lord continued more dangerously, "look at me, my friends. Look at Lord Voldemort, look at his powers and achievements!"

He dropped his hands and glanced down at the servants sobbing by his feet.

"Perhaps, having Muggle blood in your veins is not always so debilitating, is it?"

They were sobering out, returning to the circle and reforming its shape.

"Well, I wanted to show you that I was delusional to the point where I started to believe my lies. It was a mistake. Irrationality leads to errors and errors lead to failures. Only those who are strong enough to face their weaknesses may be eventually rewarded with … success."

He turned to Harry and then their eyes met again.

Oh, how much Harry wanted to hug him and kiss him right then. He never felt so proud of anyone, not even his Dumbledore's Army practicing in secret behind Umbridge's back.

"We must retrieve our past errors and we must do it right now. You may not benefit from this tonight, but your offspring, the future of our Wizarding world, shall. Choose wisely who'll be your mate...," Voldemort said, before turning to look at Harry and slowly extending his hand towards him. "But perhaps not too wisely for not every weakness deserves to be eradicated and wiped out," he concluded and smiled when Harry came over, wrapped his fingers around the offered palm and squeezed it hard.

xxxxx

Harry, naturally, saw right through Tom's tactics. He understood that Tom wanted to show him that he was ready to overcome his shame and fears and that he expected the same from Harry. But the problem was that Tom's 'friends' could hardly openly renounce him, no matter what he told them. Harry's friends, on the other hand, were a completely different story. It was not that they loved him the less, if anything, they loved him far more than that. And that was the heart of the problem – he loved them too, and he could not see them hurt.

Voldemort's hand was no longer cold in his clutch. It was, in fact, very warm and pleasant and Harry focused on that sensation as they walked towards the Atrium with an army of Death Eaters following their track.

"Tom...," he said quietly, but fell silent again after receiving Voldemort's intent stare. "You're right," he muttered then, pulling himself back together. "I cannot live in fear for the rest of my life."

The hand tightened its hold on his fingers and he returned that encouraging squeeze.

_I need you. Oh, please, stay by my side._

Voldemort then slowed down his gait, coming to stand directly at the place where the dreadful statue insulting all Muggles used to tower above everything else. Harry stopped beside him and tried his best to ignore the frantic commotion around. People were screaming and running away while Aurors were running in, searching for some advantageous attack positions. Harry tried to copy Voldemort's calmness, standing very still by his side, but he was a wreck of nerves on the inside. So many things could go so terribly wrong that it was making him sick.

And then they were coming, Ron and Hermione, they were hurrying towards him, frenzied, and behind them, he could see Lupin and Tonks and Weasleys and so many others that Harry's resolution definitely began wavering again.

Still, he only clutched at the hand holding his even tighter.

"Harry!" Ron yelped wildly, apparently fully intent on running towards him and rescuing him. It was Hermione, who stopped him, whispering something urgently into his ear.

At that moment, Tom finally let go of Harry's hand and stepped forward. Everyone on the other side of the imaginary barrier took an involuntary step back.

"Where is the Minister of Magic? I'd like to have a few words with him," the Dark Lord spoke quietly to the stunned crowd.

"I am here," Kingley's low, booming voice resounded in the vast room and he moved forward as well.

"It's a pleasure to meet you again, Kingsley Shacklebolt," Voldemort continued in the same smooth, compliant tone, adding a scary little smile.

"I cannot say I share the sentiment," Kingsley returned coldly.

"Tom," Harry breathed out so quietly that only the Dark Lord could hear him. "This is completely pointless. Let's try this again one hundred years later, okay?"

Voldemort looked back at Harry and the moment their eyes met, Harry felt his distant presence inside his mind.

_And he felt his decision to protect, preserve and ensure his happiness no matter what._

In spite of himself, Harry felt his lips curl into a little smile. How was it possible that Tom was unable to see his own loveliness?

Voldemort swiftly turned back to Kingsley, straightening his long spine.

"Let's skip the pleasantries, then," he said curtly before returning back to stand beside Harry. "I did not miraculously disappear, Shacklebolt, no matter how much you probably hoped that I did. I am still here, fully capable of putting you all through unimaginable miseries if I wish so."

"Tom," Harry groaned as things definitely started to take the wrong turn again.

"Therefore, it comes to me as a great surprise," Voldemort continued aloofly, "that you were so eager to find my whereabouts, obviously fully intent on destroying me, but you failed to consider the reason why I wasn't repaying you the _favour_."

He took a daring step forward.

"I did not become weak, Shacklebolt," he said threateningly, "and I am _done_ hiding in the closet."

Kingsley shivered, but held his stance surrounded by Aurors. He only wiped off the little droplets of sweat from his brows.

"Speaking of which," Voldemort said more softly, turning back to Harry and running his hand down his arm affectionately, "there is someone else who's willing to step out of it as well."

"Thanks, Tom, but I think I can take it from here," Harry hissed quietly.

"Not yet, Harry," Voldemort whispered back before approaching Kingsley again, resolute and menacing.

"Tom," Harry said more loudly, but Voldemort did not listen.

"Harry Potter is mine and any harm done to him will be regarded as a harm done to my person. You shall know that Lord Voldemort is not merciful when attacked and therefore the Order of the Phoenix should seriously reconsider pursuing _any_ retaliatory action against Harry. I urge you to remember that as long as he is alive and well, you shall avoid my wrath and live in peace all you like, but the moment someone injures him on purpose, both mentally or physically, you'll be facing the consequences of the direst kind!"

Okay, this was definitely crossing all the allotted boundaries. Harry resolutely stepped forward and caught Lord Voldemort's elbow.

"Wait, Tom – slow down! Firstly, I really appreciate your effort to keep me safe and sound, but, seriously, I can take care of myself, thank you, and secondly this is absolutely not necessary! Stop turning me into some token of peace or whatever you plan to do. I don't want them to think of me that way. I … I just want them to know the truth … which is quite simple, in fact. I am with you not because I have to be, but because I want to be. I … I love you, Tom. I love you."

Voldemort blinked a couple of times as if trying to fully embrace the meaning behind Harry's words.

He cleared his throat then, regaining his footing.

"Have you just interrupted my best domination speech of the year in order to tell me that?"

Harry laughed nervously and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah?"

To everyone's surprise the Dark Lord smiled back, the tension gradually leaving his shoulders. He leant forward, kissing Harry's cheek lightly.

"Thank you, Harry," he said the words he held back for so long. "Thank you for everything."

And then he stepped aside, giving up his bargaining position for Harry.

Squaring up his shoulders, Harry took a deep breath and turned his face to Ron and Hermione. His stomach was cramping with nerves for he expected to see open disgust in their eyes, but what he really saw in there surprised him a lot.

They appeared mortified and also a little ... _guilty?_

Harry bit into his lower lip and rolled it between his teeth. He wished he could hug them and tell them that he was terribly sorry, but it was a bit too late for that.

"I really don't know what to say right now," he muttered instead.

Taking in another breath, he tried to continue before his mouth could grow too numb from his abashment.

"I know that you must find this shocking … and I … I really hope that you can forgive me once," he sighed. "I wanted to tell you about this _months_ ago, but I couldn't just speak it … it was so difficult to even think of describing my feelings for Tom to you since you can only see him as-"

"It's okay, we understand!" Ron interrupted him with a sudden yelp, his face slowly turning crimson.

He took Harry quite by surprise: his best friend was actually among the last people Harry expected to accept and tolerate this revelation.

"You do?" he choked.

"Yeah. You're simply in love with a … _bloke_ … no big deal," Ron muttered, his face definitely purple by now.

"It's not a big deal?" Harry muttered in disbelief.

"Harry," Hermione began hesitantly and suddenly Harry felt that the reason Ron acted so strangely was because he missed out something important.

Hermione coughed to clear her throat. "Harry … what Ron is trying to insinuate here is that we will be more than happy to forgive you, if you can forgive us too."

"F-forgive you too?" Harry stuttered out, his confusion rocketing to the skies. "For what?"

"Because … we … we knew about it," Hermione peeped out.

"Well, of course you did, since your correspondence was quite straightforward..."

"For nearly ten months," Hermione finished, also a little pink in her face. "You know, we first thought that you were under the Imperius Curse or something like that, but it soon proved to be a misleading conviction."

Harry felt as if she just poured a bucket of ice cold water all over him.

"What?" he asked flatly. "How?"

"W-well," Ron stuttered out, "Do you remember the last Christmas when you stayed with us at the Burrow and we shared a bedroom?"

"Yeah - what about it?" Harry said, still completely undone.

"Oh, Harry... Come on! You talk in sleep, haven't I told you that?" Ron moaned, rubbing his flaming ears.

Dismayed, Harry took a staggering step back.

_Oh, no._

_No no no no no! NO!_

"Wh – what did I say?" Harry stammered, drowning in horrible embarrassment. He couldn't possibly say something totally _improper_ … no, he was still going out with Ginny back then! But now that he thought about it, she broke up with him soon after the Christmas...

And started dating Neville Longbottom two weeks later.

Oh.

What if he was whispering his name during those nights? Perhaps he was begging him to come back? Or was he moaning about how much he missed him and how much he desired him?

Because that was what he used to dream about.

Harry slowly turned around, watching the dozens of excited faces eager to catch their every word. Further, Rita Skeeter was making the front line, her Quick-Quotes Quill scribbling so fast that it was puncturing the parchment.

Harry felt as if every drop of blood in his body attempted to squeeze itself into his face. Surely, his head would be cracking along its seams any moment.

"Ron … Hermione," he breathed heavily. "How about we continue this conversation somewhere more private, please?"

xxxxx

"Oh, Merlin, they'll never let me live this down."

"Your friends, Harry? I believe they just did. Relax, my dearest, there are far worse things than that, I assure you."

"Name one."

"The Cruciatus Curse, for example."

"Haha, very funny, Tom," Harry rolled over on a bed, coming face to face with Lord Voldemort, before wrapping his arm around his naked torso.

"I am trying to be serious here," he mumbled against his skin.

"So am I."

"No, you're just being ironic as usual. Ah, I still refuse to believe that Ron and Hermione knew about this for ten months! How could they do this to me? Well, I know that I wasn't entirely honest with them either, but it boggles my mind that Hermione actually supported my meaningless dates when she knew how I really felt about you!"

"Obviously, she wanted you to forget all about me … for your own good, I suppose."

"As if I could ever forget."

"I am actually very happy to hear you say that Harry, although there are certain … memories that I wouldn't mind to wipe off your head by myself."

"Nah, I don't regret anything, Tom. Except ... well, technically, my career is over."

"No, it's not. They cannot sack you for sleeping with Lord Voldemort. According to the wizarding laws, it's not even a misdeed let alone a crime."

"I don't think it's the sleeping part they've got such a problem with."

"All right," Voldemort smirked, coiling his long limbs around Harry's body and basking in his warmth. "So, it must be the part concerning our violent, passionate sex life they outwardly despise but inwardly envy us immensely," he suggested.

"Hah," Harry snorted, "they wouldn't know a thing about it unless someone listened to my sleep talks again."

"I enjoy listening to them every night."

"Tom!" Harry moaned, refusing to feel self-conscious when lying naked on the bed and enjoying the aftermath of his second orgasm tonight. "Anyway, the biggest problem is that they consider me a double agent now."

"You mean a triple agent, since you're basically teaching the Aurors some tricks of mine, aren't you?"

"Look, I cannot help it, Tom … it's a natural process. I've learned so many things about magic just from watching you."

"Yes, you've got so many natural talents, Harry. Do you want me to name some?"

"Besides, I cannot really be a double agent, can I? Since we're no longer in a war, right?" Harry still muttered to himself, glowering at the ceiling.

"It upsets me greatly when something distracts you to the point that you're not paying attention to me, Harry."

Harry jerked his head in his direction.

"Oh, Tom, you're right. Look at me now - after all of my brave words about my readiness to handle the difficulties, I am whining about what Rita and her readers think of me now. Worse, I am still contemplating it even though I've got you in my bed. How silly I can get, really, wasting these precious moments that I hopelessly dreamt about for so many months."

"So," the cool, soft hand lightly traced the outline of Harry's temple, his cheek and chin before slowly heading southward, "is it your way of saying that I was worth it?"

Suddenly, Harry recalled the incident in the prefects' bathroom when they gave into their desire for the first time. Tom called it absurd and insane back then. Quite a change in his opinion, indeed, Harry thought to himself, chuckling.

"What?" Voldemort hissed, but Harry smothered him with kisses.

"Absolutely, Tom," he whispered adoringly. "Absolutely, my love."

"Ah, say it again."

"My love," Harry purred when the Dark Lord pressed his mouth against his ear.

"I love it when you're calling me that," he breathed out as if betraying an oppressive secret.

"And I love it when I can call you that," Harry whispered in return.

"So...," the cool lips grazed Harry's warm pair softly, teasingly.

"So?" Harry smiled back.

"You're really mine, aren't you?"

"I am yours as much as you're mine, Tom."

"Oh, then I possess you completely."

"Um … rather not. We did not have that much fun the last time you did it … oh, and you'd better stop stroking me down there unless you want another kind of magic happening really but really soon."

"Well, since you're mine, Harry Potter..."

"Ah! Fuck, y-you keep saying that," Harry protested, stopping the hand's movement by wrapping his fingers around it, "and yet, surprisingly, you refuse to take the merits, although I provide them quite freely every time we're together."

"Oh, Harry," Lord Voldemort smiled one of his truly wicked smiles which Harry found to be so alluring.

"I do consider them more often than you think, since you look truly irresistible like this."

"So ... are you considering them … even now?" Harry asked, breathless again.

"Most definitely."

The hand squeezed him softly again and Harry found himself arching into that touch.

"And?" he gasped out aloud.

"From what I see, it would take some getting used to it," Voldemort said after a short hesitation.

"I am not arguing about that," Harry grinned.

"And I _am_ curious, of course, to discover what exactly makes you crave it so much."

"Wow, no buts this time?" Harry noted, genuinely excited and surprised, making his lover laugh out aloud.

"Apparently, no buts," Voldemort hissed softly and then he became more serious. "For I know beyond any doubt now that you do not wish to hurt me..."

"...too badly," Harry finished with a smirk as he crawled on top of him, pushing him against the mattress. The ticking bomb in his groin was about to explode just from the heady feeling of control he was momentarily given. "Because right now I wouldn't be able to hold back on you even if you begged me. You're goddamn irresistible too, did you know that?"

"Ah … am I, Harry?"

Playful and adorably faking innocence … oh, his Dark Lord was such a tease for such a long time that Harry could not contain himself any longer.

"Oh, Lord, I swear I'm going to tie you to this bed one day, Tom Riddle!"

"Yesss, Harry … now … with the other name, if you please."

"FINE! Lord Voldemort, I am going to TIE you to THIS fucking bed and fuck your glorious ARSE RIGHT NOW!"

"Alright. And Harry ... I love you too."

xxxxx

FIN


End file.
